A Freakish Fairy Tale
by Koala Kitty
Summary: Ranma hides from his mother in the court of the most desired Princess in the world, disgusted to find that she's just some tomboy. Ch 6: Akane marries Happosai? AU, indo-european fairy tale extractions.
1. Furrypelts

Disclaimer: These characters belong, more or less, to Rumiko Takahashi  
  
I am butchering these fairy tales. It amuses me. So, if you mind a little OOC, or you haven't heard a lot of fairy tales and not knowing which ones I'm using bothers you, don't read it. They're a little more obscure than Snow White, and I'm taking a lot of liberties.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
The Princess Akane was, by all accounts, a spoiled brat. Of course, she got that reputation mainly because she refused to marry. Her refusal caused quite a bit of heartache for her father, who'd already lost so much in his life. His oldest daughter had run away with a miracle man, which is sort of like a doctor only more capable, and his second-oldest daughter had been carried away by a dragon when she was twelve.  
  
The second-oldest had been rescued, at least temporarily. Her father himself and one of his most trusted friends, King Saotome from a neighboring kingdom, had found her inside the cave where the dragon hoarded his treasure. The girl had informed them both, quite firmly, that she had no desire to be rescued and would scream so the dragon would know they were there. With a skeptical look at the slumbering, scaly beast, they'd simply returned home and written her off as dead.  
  
Akane was the only child he had left. In an effort to see his grandchildren before he died, he'd sent a very flattering portrait of her to all the kingdoms within a month's travel. For two years now, the Princess had been flooded with marriage proposals. It was said that most men looking at her picture went mad with love, and others went mad with love at the first sight of her.  
  
This was, of course, all rubbish. The Princess was pretty enough, and a kind girl, but she wasn't exactly a Helen of Troy. No one went mad from the sight of her picture. The truth of the matter was, it was a competition. The most popular pastime of the era was to try to win the Princess Akane. She was plied with gifts, her every step was followed, she was put in countless sonnets. She knew very well none of it was actually out of love for her. Most of them couldn't even tell the color of her eyes. It was all to compete with each other.  
  
After a few years of being followed, simpered at, and generally annoyed at all hours of the day and night, she began to have a serious hatred for the masculine gender. They were, after all, ruining her life. Why in hell would she want to marry any of them?  
  
And so another plan of Soun Tendo's backfired horribly.  
  
When Prince Ranma arrived at the Tendo Court, he knew the rumors about the unbelievably beautiful Princess Akane. He knew he was supposed to fall madly in love with her at first sight. When he saw she was just another girl, he was completely disgusted. If he'd come to marry her, or rather to try, he would probably have simply turned around and gone home in a disgruntled huff. But he wasn't there to court her. He wasn't even a "he" at the moment.  
  
Ranma and his father had gone on a trading trip across China, doing some very profitable business with spice merchants along that way. On their journey, they'd fallen into some cursed springs. . . which meant that King Genma became King of Pandas when he was splashed with cold water, and Prince Ranma became a little red-haired Princess. He hated it, he hated his father, he hated the stupid Tendo Court and he wanted to go home.  
  
However, on his mother's side they tended to take gender roles very seriously. His mother had threatened himself and his father with making them commit ritual seppuku if the trading trip made Ranma any less of a man. With breasts, menstrual cramps and a tendency to sing soprano, he was a lot less of a man. With spilt intestines dancing through his mind, Genma had run to his old friend Soun for help.  
  
Which left Ranma standing in the courtyard, in the rain, disgusted with Court in general and that rotten Princess specifically. What was so great about her, anyway? Why were these men going bankrupt to entertain her? What a let down.  
  
---------------------  
  
Once upon a time, before kingdoms were actual boundaries and anyone with a castle and some lands could call himself a king, there was such a ruler called Kuonji. The two things he loved most in the world were his wife, who had the brightest blue eyes ever seen and hair the color of the rich, dark earth, and a donkey he'd been given by his father. King and Queen Kuonji had a little girl, who was a very smart, pretty child but who was pretty much left to her own devices. She grew up with the other castle children, made friends among the kitchen staff.  
  
One of the cooks in the kitchen became a kind of surrogate father for the little princess, whose name was Ukyou. When he discovered her climbing trees in her skirts, he insisted she wear pants. When he found her sitting idly in the courtyard, he taught her how to cook. . .. and the bullying scullery boys taught her how to fight. When visiting dignitaries and royal families met her, they took her to be a young boy, perhaps a page.  
  
All of this changed when the Queen died.  
  
Ukyou was perhaps fourteen at the time- old for a princess to have no suitors, but then very few people knew she existed. Even fewer knew she was a girl. When her mother died and her father went mad with grief, she was forced to wear fancy dresses and go to court. In fact, she was essentially thrown into a position of inscrutable power from a position of no power and very little interest. She hated it. She hated every single corset-bound second.  
  
In order to assuage the king's grief, his courtiers tried to find him a wife. They showed him every portrait of every young woman of noble blood. Yet none suited him. None could compare to his wife, with her deep, bright blue eyes and her hair dark as the rich earth itself. None had his wife's cute little nose, her full figure. Something was always wrong.  
  
One day, a cursed day, he saw his daughter Ukyou in the palace garden, mulling over some financial state affair. In his madness, he thought she was his dead wife. He ran to her and fell at her feet, laying his head in her lap and sobbing his eyes dry.  
  
Ukyou, of course, was rather confused by this. Her father had never shown much affection for her, and this open display of grief touched her. She soothed him, patting his head, and shoulder. At long last, his tears stilled and he looked up at her with strange, disturbing eyes.  
  
"You have come back to me," he whispered. She shook her head, confused.  
  
"I never left," she protested. He began to sob again, but this time he kept his eyes on her face.  
  
"Why did you trick me, then? I thought you were dead. Oh my love, my wife. . ."  
  
"I'm not your wife!" Ukyou shouted, angry and more than a little frightened now. He stood up, every line in his body tense and rigid.  
  
"Then we must be married at once!" he declared, reaching for her. With a squawk of surprise and dismay, she ducked under his arm and ran from him. She ran in the uncomfortable dress until she reached the main hall. She burst through the doors and began, immediately, to scream.  
  
"My father is INSANE!" she cried, looking for help in the faces around her. "He thinks I am mother and insists we get married at once!"  
  
Most of the courtiers privately thought this would take care of a lot of problems. The ummariable Princess Ukyou would be taken care of, the old king would regain his sanity. It was perfect, except for the absolute disgusting bit of incest thrown in.  
  
The king chose that moment to burst into the main hall. Ukyou backed away from him, glaring with all the might she could muster. She wanted to be armed. She really, really wanted the giant spatula her surrogate father had made for her. She really wanted anything sharp and hard. And she really, really wanted out of her corset. If it came to force, she didn't want to be restrained. But then, how could she strike her own father? How could she strike a king?  
  
"I am NOT going to marry you!" she seethed. He blinked at her, obviously hurt by what he thought was his wife's rejection.  
  
"Yet, anyway," one of the courtiers interjected, seeing the king's sorrow. Ukyou rounded on the courtier, pulling him up to eye level – the man was rather short -- by his collar.  
  
"What do you mean, yet?" she said between clenched teeth. The convenience of it all struck her suddenly, and she looked in the face of each courtier, finding there what she most feared: a thoughtful apathy. They were going to let him do it. She would get no help from them.  
  
"Stall him. Keep him happy. Trick him," the courtier suggested in an undertone. She let the man down. Fine. If they weren't going to help her, she'd help herself.  
  
"I will marry you after you have given me proper gifts," she said, because it was the first thing she could think of.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked, gallantly. Just what did princesses and queens usually demand for gifts? Nothing useful, that was certain. Jewelry, perhaps? Too easy. He could have that done in a month. What would take forever?  
  
Gowns. She looked down at the richly embroidered gown she was wearing and knew it had taken a half-year to make. She would ask him for a gown that would take much longer than that.  
  
"I want a gown. And not just any gown. I want a gown that. . . has all the colors of twilight," she demanded, gazing at the crazed eyes of her father. He nodded, and was gone.  
  
In eight months, he returned to her with a magnificent gown that held all the colors of twilight, muted and beautiful in silk. She then asked him for a gown that held all the splendor of the night. Eight months later, he returned to her with a rich gown of the darkest blue brocade, sewn all over with miniscule diamonds. She then asked for a gown that shone like daylight, and six months later received a gown of pure spun gold, with rubies and yellow sapphires sewn in. Desperate, she asked him for the one thing she knew he would not give her.  
  
When he came to her chamber that night and draped over her the skin of his beloved donkey, killed at her request, she knew she had lost. She took the dresses and the donkey hide and fled. And, of course, she took with her the giant spatula her father figure form the kitchens had made for her.  
  
She trekked across kingdoms for months, living off the land, disguising herself by draping the donkey hide over her fair form. Eventually, she came to a kingdom ruled by a man named Kuno, at whose castle she found work in the kitchens. She was glad to be off the road. She hid herself under the donkey hide, whipping up fabulous okonomiyaki for the castle staff and nobles. The dresses she kept secret, wrapped in burlap, in a hollow tree not far from the castle.  
  
A day came when the King and Prince living in the castle threw a ball, meant to last three nights. The kitchen was a mass of preparations, and Ukyou felt not the slightest twinge of desire to attend. Until she saw some of the guests, that is. Or rather, one of the guests.  
  
He stood out from the crowd only in his seeming indifference. He wasn't daydreaming, just unimpressed. He wore his thick black hair tied back in a ponytail, and his eyes, almost the same color as her own, scanned the crowd without really seeing anyone. He looked oddly familiar, and she wanted to go talk to him. She couldn't, however, enter the party with a donkey hide draped over her. So she went to the hollow tree and took out the simplest of her dresses, the twilight dress, and donned it. With an effort at grooming herself, she was positively radiant.  
  
She walked into the ballroom and a few people stopped to stare. She could see the familiar stranger. . . but just as she began to walk towards him she was intercepted by the Prince Kuno.  
  
"Aren't you a vision of loveliness!" he exclaimed. She eyed him warily. She'd heard tales about this one.  
  
"Yes, aren't I," she replied loftily. He didn't seem to notice as he took her arm and steered her towards the dance floor.  
  
"I must have a dance!" he smiled in a way which, she supposed, was intended to be charming. Suddenly he stepped back, looking mildly abashed. "Forgive me. I forgot myself for a moment. I am the Prince of this Realm, Defender of Mother Justice in all Her Forms, Lover of the Earth and Seeker of the Stars. They call me Red Lightning, for I strike and my opponent sees his own blood," he bowed elaborately, "Tatewaki Kuno, aged seventeen."  
  
"How . . . nice," Ukyou grimaced, but her statement was ignored as he swept her into his arms and they joined the dance. She spent the rest of the night being handed from one dance partner to another, none of them very good and all of them horribly arrogant. Kuno was the worst, however. Before she knew it, dawn had come and the party was over.  
  
The next night, the second night of the ball, she got out her dark brocade dress and went again to the party, hoping to find the mysterious stranger. She didn't find him, but she did find a whole horde of nobles, male and female, who were simply bursting to find out who she was. It was fun, and when the third night rolled around, she got out the gold dress and went one last time. After all, when would she next get the chance to secretly mock so many people at once? If only they knew that she, who they thought was supernatural, had prepared the very food they were eating?  
  
When she left he ball, she sensed she was being followed. She stopped and looked around, but no one was there. She ran on to where she'd hidden the dresses, and was almost back in her rags, holding the donkey hide in her hands when she realized she had, indeed, been followed.  
  
"You've kidnapped the Lady with the golden dress!" Tatewaki Kuno gasped, staring at her. She sighed.  
  
"No, I am the Lady with the golden dress." When he didn't believe her, she showed him the three dresses. At long last, he cleared his throat and looked up at her.  
  
"Well, in that case. . . the . . . bell, tolling at the temple of Gion reminds us of the transience of it all. I was wondering. . . if perhaps you'd like to marry me?" he asked, completely ignoring the look of stunned horror on her face. "I would, of course, be your slave, love you until the end of time and all other such requisite things."  
  
"Ahhhhh," Ukyou gulped, not entirely sure how to respond to that. She HAD received worse offers. "No, thanks but no thanks. I think I'd rather. . . just work in the kitchen."  
  
"In that case," he smiled, turning away form her, "Tomorrow we will depart for the kingdom of the fair Princess Akane Tendo, whom I have loved for many years."  
  
"Oh, really?" Ukyou asked, eyebrows raised. Boy, was she glad she'd turned that one down. What an utter idiot this prince was. 


	2. Ranma's Thoughts

Disclaimer:Not mine, I'm not Japanese.

Chapter 2

Ranma's POV, roughly. I apologize for the excessive pronoun confusion.  
  
Ranma scowled at the rain-soaked courtyard, thoroughly disgusted with everything in sight. He was still in his traveling clothes, which didn't fit him nearly so well in the rain. At least no men had come up to "her" in an attempt to win her over for despicable deeds. Everyone was just way too enthralled with that little Princess. Who was just another girl as far as he was concerned.  
  
A dark shape appeared in the doorway, the vague shadow of an umbrella hanging over its head. Wonderful. Probably some servent who would escort him to a dingy little room. . . he wanted to go home, to sleep in HIS own bed, to go hunting with HIS dogs, to be with HIS friends. Stupid pop and the merchants and that STUPID Jusenkyo. . .  
  
"Come in out of the rain," a woman's voice said. Scowling, Ranma complied. As he grew closer, the woman's features grew solid through the wall of rain. Ranma held back the small gasp trying to erupt from his, no her, damnit, throat.  
  
"Princess," Ranma said solemnly, bowing because by the time he remembered he was supposed to curtsey, it was too late. He was surprised to see her curtseying. Heck, he was surprised to see her at all. What sort of noblewoman greets dirty travelers personally? Especially unexpected dirty travelers.  
  
"Princess Ranma," the blue-haired girl countered. She had a kind smile on her face. Princess Ranma, was it? That just didn't sound right. "You are the duaghter of my father's friend, are you not?" A puzzled look passed over her face. "Which friend? He would not tell me."  
  
Wonderful. Just wonderful. Time to spill SOME of the beans. Ranma would lose nothing by being friendly to the little princess. Or so the cursed boy dearly hoped.  
  
"Truthfully, my lady," she said, bowing again in that sweeping gesture used for equals, not superiors. "I am in hiding. My father sent me here so I would be safe from the. . . the demons trying to. . ." Ranma grasped at straws. "Take over the bodies fo women in my family." Phew.  
  
"That's odd," Princess Akane frowned. "I have not heard of any such happenings."  
  
"I have traveled a terribly long way," Ranma admitted. The Princess studied her for a moment, then gave an imperceptible shrug. She held out a hand to Ranma.  
  
"Shall we be friends?" she said, a kind smile flitting across her face. For what seemed an eternity, Ranma stared at that hand. It was bare, no gloves to hide the short nails and callouses of a martial artist's hand. So the famous Akane was a fighter? And she expected him to hold hands with her? For a moment, he regarded the gesture with all the arrogance of a prince who has had too many women after him. Thoughts like, she's just trying to get to my crown or my body and such like things, but then he remembered he was a girl. It was just a kind gesture. A small gesture, but one Ranma appreciated.  
  
"Sure."  
  
He, or she, rather, took Akane's hand. The taller girl squeezed it gently, and drew Ranma into the protective circle of the umbrella. She smiled at Ranma, and the little redhead felt her heart speed up. Was there something to this love-at-first sight bull after all? Was there something extraordinary about this girl?  
  
"Let's get you some dry clothes," Akane smiled. Not a gown fit for a princess. No disdainful glance at her dirty pants. Yes, there was something very special about this Princess Akane indeed. Ranma had a feeling, however, that it wasn't what the sonnets said it was.  
  
The Princess, it seemed—the famous and beautiful princess all the poets were simply gagging over—was a tomboy.  
  
---------------------------  
  
King Soun threw the papers into the fire, watching as they crinkled and burned. Those papers held the truth fo his friend Saotome's fate, written out by a rather clever panda who was. . . surprise, surprise, his friend Saotome.  
  
"I'm glad you came," he said softly. He turned big, weepy eyes to Genma. "For many reasons, old friend, but I'm especially glad you brought your. . . daughter."  
  
Genma the panda flashed up a sign that said, "What? You want him to divert some of Akane's suitors?"  
  
Soun waved the idea away. "Quite the opposite, actually. She's doing a good job of diverting them herslef. Too good, in fact. I want to be a grandfather, Genma. . ." a conspiratorial glint came to his eyes. "And you know, we always wanted our families tied somehow."  
  
"But he's a she at the moment," the pnda sign flashed. Soun waved the matter away as if it was of no importance.  
  
"Which means he'll actually get to speak to her. She never talks to men, other than myself and one or two servants. Let them grow close as female friends, and then he can tell her the truth and win her over."  
  
"You actually think that's going to work?" came the sign from the panda. Genma had narrowed his eyes at Soun, as if contemplating the possibilities of madness.  
  
"Worth a try," Soun muttered, before falling back into an old armchair. "Let's. . . not tell them about this idea just yet. Surprises are always appreciated."  
  
------------------------  
  
"You're a martial artist!" Princess Akane gasped, a wide grin spreading across her face. Ranma felt and answering smile come unbidden to her own mouth. "Do you want to go spar?" the blue-haired princess asked. Ranma blinked at her.  
  
"Don't you have to go be flattered and stuff?" Ranma asked, somewhat tactlessly. "Suitors to attend, dresses to try on, handkerchiefs to embroider?"  
  
"Ugh," Akane grimaced, shuddering slightly. "Please stop, you're going to make me ill if you keep talking like that." She turned chocolate brown eyes on Ranma, a suspicious look crossing her face. "Don't tell me YOU do that kind of. . ."  
  
"No," Ranma said quickly. She frowned at Akane, utterly confused. "But. . . I have never in my entire life had a man try to marry me." Well, at least THAT was strictly true. "You, on the other hand, have a palace swarming with suitors. How did you manage that if you never do all the things. . . well. . ." the redhead searched for a word. "things girls do?"  
  
Akane laughed at Ranma, a short bitter laugh, still holding her hand and leading her through the palace. They stopped in front of some heavy ornate doors, twice as tall as the girls were, and Akane pushed one open one-handed.  
  
"Those idiots? Don't be silly. If my name weren't plastered all over the stupid sonnets few of them would even know what it was. They don't want me, they want to win," she explained, anger seeping through her voice. Ranma blinked at her.  
  
"Win what?" she asked, very confused now. She was beginning to wonder if all those princesses she'd met over the years were simply acting like little fools because a Prince was in the room. What if they were all like this when it was only other girls around? What if every simpering little idiot he'd ever met was secretly a human being?  
  
What an astonishing concept.  
  
Akane led her petite companion through another set of very large, very heavy doors into what appeared to be a bedchamber. There was a huge four-poster bed, complete with canopy and dried flower garlands in the corners. Three giant wardrobes essentially covered one wall. The most odd feature of the room, if this was indeed the Princess' chamber, was the large bookcase covering yet another wall.  
  
People actually teach princesses to read? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad being married to one, eventually. Sort of like a mild torture instead of the screaming hell she had formerly expected.  
  
"The grand contest of our age, Princess Ranma," Akane sighed, striding over to one of the wardrobes. She flung it open, revealing quite a few pants, shorts, and more sensible skirts than the petticoated flowing monster she was surrently wearing. "They are all trying to win the unwinnable bride. All right," she said, surveying the closet. "Until we get some clothes for you, I think you'd better borrow some of these."  
  
Ranma blinked, not sure how to respond to that. She'd had girl friends before, mostly servents and the minor nobility, but they'd never. . . They'd never been this. . . well, normal. This Akane acted like a guy.  
  
Ranma looked nervously at the huge bed. If she was generous enough to share her clothes, would she want to share her room? Did princesses do that with visiting princesses? Princes didn't, but then girls were naturally more prone to run in packs. Of course, this Akane was more like a boy than a girl. Still, what if she wanted to share a room with "Princess" Ranma? Change. . . sheesh. . . clothing in the same room? That was all very well and good for other princesses, but Ranma had this feeling that as soon as hot water hit him. . . all hell would break loose.  
  
"What would you like? Pants, like those you're wearing? A skirt?" Akane waved a hand over Ranma's eyes, snapping her out of her reverie. Her expression was somewhat worried. "I can get you a ballgown, if you're more comfortable in those things."  
  
"No, I, er. . . pants, please," Ranma said weakly. Akane gestured towards the wardrobe, indicating that Ranma should get her own clothing. Ranma complied, picking out a pair of dark purple cotton pants and a light green jerkin. They were boys clothes. Was it possible that Akane had also been to Jusenkyo . . . Just about that time, Ranma noticed that Akane was unfastening the buttons on the side of her gown. Those bright blue eyes grew wide.  
  
"Oh, please don't!" she said, her voice cracking in her panic. Akane looked up at her in surprise.  
  
"I'm just going to take off the corset," she said. Ranma eyed her dress nervously.  
  
"How many layers of cloth are there until you get to the corset?" she asked. Akane looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. How could she explain the importance of this? How could she tell the only friend she had here that the first words she'd spoken were a lie?  
  
"Well, all of them except my shift. Have you never worn a gown before?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You won't like it," Akane assured her. She resumed unbuttoning the buttons. Ranma raised her hand to stop her, hesitated as the old ettiquette about touching a lady kicked in, and then continued as she rememebred that at the moment she, too ,was a lady. Akane looked at her, surprised to feel that restraining hand.  
  
"Please. . . . please don't. I'm very shy about these things," Ranma smiled, hoping she looked sufficiently innocent and believable. As tempting as it was to watch the object of so very many desires strip down to a thin bit of cotton, Ranma liked all her bones intact.  
  
"Oh," Akane said, frowning breifly then shrugging. She walked over to the door and rang a small but rather piercing bell hanging by the doorjamb. Within moments, a young woman in a black and white starched uniform came through the door (which Akane ahd to open for her).  
  
"Nettie, would you be so kind as to take Princess Ranma to the south green room? I think she'd like those quarters." Akane turned her gaze to Ranma as the girl bobbed in a small curtesy. "I'll come get you in a few moments, all right? Then I'll show you the dojo," Akane winked as Nettie lead Ranma out of the room. They walked precisely forty-six paces—Ranma counted—and then Ranma was led through a somewhat ordinary, if slightly larger than usual, door. The room inside, however, was beautiful. Decked entirely in pale green, with light oak furniture it was spacious and airy and. . . somehow rather feminine.  
  
Nettie helped Ranma take off the wet traveling clothes, hang them to dry by the fire (which wasn't burning, so the action was somewhat useless) and get into the baggy boy's clothes she'd picked up from Akane. A few moments after the last button was buttoned there was a knock at the door.  
  
Ranma waied a moment for Nettie to go answer the door, but then realized the maid was looking at her expectantly. With an elaborate and long-suffering sigh, she went to answer it herself.  
  
"I said NO!" she heard as the door swung open. The scene in the hallway was certainly odd. Princess Akane, dressed in light yellow pants and tunic, was standing over the prone form of a man holding quite a lot of jewelry. A sizable lump was growing on his head. Akane glanced up at Ranma, then grabbed her hand and began to run down the hallway. Her hands were warm and calloused, tiny in their structure but firm.  
  
"What was all that about?" Ranma asked as they ran.  
  
"Boys, stupid, stupid boys!" Akane snarled, ignoring the question. A crowd of them was approaching quickly, shouting poems and holding baubbles. "I HATE BOYS! I HATE,HATE, HATE BOYS!" she screamed, launching herself at them. She immeadiately began demolishing the men, a punch there, a kick here, everywhere screams and the flash of pale, slender limbs.  
  
::She thinks about as much of her suitors as I think of mine,:: Ranma thought, smiling. The gaggle of simpering young girls passed through his mind briefly, and he shuddered.  
  
---------------------------  
  
Thus it went, and they grew to be friends, with Princess Akane thinking of Ranma as a girl and Prince Ranma thinking of Akane as one of the guys.


	3. The Frog Prince

Heaven's light graced the traveling party of Prince Tatewaki Kuno, glinting off the gilded carriages and jingling harnesses. The sky was clear of any signs of trouble, the flowers blooming in his path wilted gracefully under his horse's hooves. It seemed nothing, on this day when he would again behold his beloved, could harm him. His love for the Princess Akane would simply overwhelm all predators.

They were nearing the magnificent gates, and Tatewaki was in a fine mood. Ukyou, who had long since abandoned her donkey hide and instead simply dressed as a man, was not in a fine mood at all. In fact, she had seldom in her life been in a worse mood. She certainly didn't plan to spend the rest of her life as a cook in the court of the boorish Tatewaki, but she couldn't seem to find a way out of it.

The guards over the gate had seen them, and were lowering the drawbridge for them to enter. The castle was just an ordinary castle, stained stones and a rotting wooden drawbridge. This was a far cry from the alabaster abode of the poet's version of Princess Akane. Princess Akane, so much more blessed than she had been, was probably just another girl.

---------------------------

"I am NOT in love," Ranma muttered under his breath, crouching in the treetops over Akane's head. Akane was playing in her garden, tossing a small gold ball in the air and then catching it. So what if the sight of her smile made his heart leap? That didn't mean a thing. So what if she was completely unlike any girl he'd ever hoped to meet? So what if she was a warrior? So what if the sight of all those other men vying for her attention made him sick with jealosy?

Ranma wasn't in love, couldn't be in love, because the very second Akane saw him as a man she'd turn away from him. Beat him, like all the other men. All her kindness and beauty would vanish in a mass of flying fists and feet. Not that he didn't thoroughly enjoy watching her beat up other guys.

Anyway, what would that make him? Wouldn't falling in love with someone because she was so much like a guy make him. . . no, she wasn't like a girl at all, how could he love that?

"There you are, my love," a deep voice sounded across the garden. Ranma glowered at the intruder, a tall handsome man with dark brown hair. Akane rolled her eyes and took a step backwards.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Kuno-san?" she asked politely. Ranma frowned in suspicion. That was different. She never talked to them before hitting them.

"To my undying devotion to you, of course," he smiled, an easy smile that flashed pearly white teeth. "I, Tatewaki Kuno, age seventeen, the pride of my kingdom and joy of all hearts, have come for you."

Ranma hated him already.

"You know men are never allowed in my garden," Akane said softly, taking another step backwards. What about this man had her so afraid? Ranma saw a glint of steel at the man's side, and it all rang clear. He was armed, and Akane was wearing one of those ridiculous things with corsets. She would never be able to fend him off.

"My love, how coy you are," Kuno smiled, stepping in and reaching out for Akane. Ranma had seen more than enough. He jumped out of the tree, landing between Kuno and Akane.

"Back off!" he growled, aiming a kick at Tatewaki's head. It landed, solid, but Kuno simply rocked back and absorbed the blow.

"Who are you?" Akane asked him, and he realized all too late that he was, currently, a guy. Crap.

"Not now!" was all he could reply, because Kuno drew his sword at that point. And Akane stood stupidly behind him, as if she didn't realize that was sharp, naked steel in the hands of an idiot. "Kuno! Away from the princess!" he shouted, and vaulted into the trees, to come out again behind Kuno.

The tall, brunette boy slashed at him, and he jumped on top of the sword. He delivered a series of kicks, fast and hard, to Kuno's face. The tall, arrogant prince fell, unconscious.

"That was way too easy," Ranma muttered. "Why was she afraid of him?"

"Who are you?" Akane repeated, glowering at him. Why was she mad at him now?

"Don't tell me you actually like this guy?" Ranma asked, feeling it like a stab through the heart.

"Don't be stupid," Akane snarled, and he felt instantly better.

"Ah. Well, see ya around," Ranma smiled awkwardly, jumping back up into the trees.

"Wait!" she called after him, but he ignored her.

Akane watched the young stranger leap from tree to tree. Something about his face and clothing was familiar, but she couldn't place it. She would ask Ranma if she knew the young stranger. Perhaps he was a part of some Prince's entourage, but surely Ranma would know the name of a martial artist with skills to rival her own.

Princess Akane stalked through her garden and back into the castle, in search of her friend. She forgot all about her little golden ball, which she had accidentally dropped into an ornamental fish pond when Kuno surprised her. In fact, she was so busy wondering who the young raven-haired stranger was, she didn't notice the oddly dressed young man jumping out of the trees behind her. She didn't even notice the splash as the young man jumped in the water, or the grunting squeals of effort as a little black pig climbed out of the pond, holding her golden ball in its mouth.

--------------------------

"Ranma!" a clear voice sounded behind him. Ranma turned, with a preemptory glance down to make sure he was in the right body. Assured that all breasts and hair colors were correct, Ranma looked up and smiled at Akane.

He knew full well why women wore those ridiculous things now that he'd seen Akane in men's clothing. They were softer, more feminine, encouraged feelings of protectiveness and longing.

Not that he cared what stupid girls wore. Stupid, no good, ridiculous girls and their stupid fashions.

"Hey, what's up?" Ranma asked, trying to sound casual.

"I, ah. . ." Akane murmered, blushing a little bit. "There was a strange man in the garden, I thought you might know who he was."

"What was he doing there?"

"I don't know. He just beat up Prince Kuno and vanished," Akane answered, frowning.

"Kuno, eh? I've heard stories about him. He sounds like a real jerk," Ranma muttered.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far, nessecarrily," Akane frowned. Ranma fought the urge to shake her until her brains rattled. "He's an enthusiast, I think."

"So the great Akane has finally fallen to a man's charms?" Ranma asked, the question coming out a hell of a lot more bitter than it had been in her head. Angry, even. Jealous.

Crap.

"Pah!" Akane grunted. She started pulling off some of the rather heavy jewelry customary in her more formal garb. It was a sure sign she was about to get all dolled down and head for the dojo. "There were a few incidents when I was much younger, but that's all water under the bridge now. Now there's some guy I've never seen in my life hopping out of trees and rescuing me from . . . enthusiasts. As if I need rescuing." Akane paused, and looked closely at Ranma. "Come to think of it, he sort of looked like you."

"What kind of incidents are you talking about?" Ranma asked quickly, deciding that that particular topic would be unproductive. Akane frowned a bit.

"Oh, you know. Little stolen kisses in the garden after a ball, sparring matches that turned into things a bit less. . . martial. Kuno was quite charming when he was younger. Or maybe it was when I was younger. When the archaic speech was still impressive," Akane shrugged it off and smiled at Ranma. "But it all seems so foolish now. You've probably done the same thing."

Stolen kisses. Less . . . martial. That was it, Kuno was dead. Not out of any kind of jealousy, of course. A martial artist is bound to protect society from a public meance like that. Smooth talkers are the WORST kind of public menace.

Or so Ranma told himself.

"Nope, I've never kissed anybody," Ranma said absently. "Let's get back to that other guy. What's he look like?"

"Well, he was dressed in a gi that was just a bit too small for him. It was open in the chest, and looked as if it was too tight to close at all. It looked familiar somehow, maybe I've seen that style before," Akane paused for a moment. "He had a very muscular chest, and very muscular arms. Not big and hulking, more. . . wiry, I guess. A very good martial artist, his style was something like yours. Fast. Ah . . . Black hair."

"Handsome? Ugly? Black hair isn't an awful lot to go on, you know," Ranma smiled, with just a hint of a mischevious grin. Akane glared at her for a moment, then gave up and sighed.

"All right, all right, fine. He was. . . sort of. . . he has a kind of innocent face, the sort you know will look younger than it really is for years. Light-colored eyes, I think, maybe blue or green. Handsome. . . . if you go for that sort of thing, that is," Akane corrected herself, frowning slightly. "I didn't get a good look at him, really," she amended, shifting her gaze away from Ranma's eyes.

::Man, I've still got it. One look at my male form, and she's gone. Too easy,:: Ranma thought to herself, grinning openly now.

"You sound like you got a pretty good look. I thought the lovely Princess Akane didn't like men?" she cooed. Akane glared at the small redhead, her hands curling into fists.

"I DON"T. And when I see THIS one again, I'm gonna PUMMEL him for being in my garden. You should have seen him, Ranma, he was just so. . . . arrogant!" Akane retorted, anger rising with the flush in her throat. "He interfered with a fight between myself and Kuno, as if I couldn't take care of myself! I bet he's just another one of those idiots who want to sweep me off into the bloody sunset!"

::Ooooookay, maybe I don't still have it,:: Ranma thought, taking a half-step back. ::I guess I pushed a button. . . ::

"ARRRRAGGGGH!" Akane snarled, reaching out and grabbing Ranma by the hand. "Come on! We're going to go spar!"

"But I. . . I can't fight you back. . . ."

"Bull! You can too!"

"I don't fight girls. . . ." Ranma muttered. Akane turned on her, throwing a punch at her stomach. The smaller girl dodged to the side, slippery as waterweeds. Getting more angry by the minute, Akane threw a kick at the Ranma's head—or tried to. She was still wearing the monstrous dress witht eh corset, and the metal contraption bit hard into her hip as she was bringing her leg up. With a startled squak, Akane fell over.

"Aw, jeez, you stupid tomboy, can't you even kick right?" Ranma sighed in exasperation. "And you wanna fight ME?"

"You. . . ." Akane began, but then she stopped. She didn't get up, she just sat there with her head bowed, holding her hip. Little drops of water were falling to the floor. ::Is she. . crying?:: Ranma wondered. She'd never figured out how to deal with crying women.

"Akane, are you hurt? Really hurt?" Ranma asked, kneeling and reaching out to touch Akane's shoulder. The blue-haired princess jerked away from her hand, then glared at her, tears still in her eyes.

"Don't worry about me," she muttered, rising to her feet and stalking off down the hallway. Ranma stared after her, petrified. A girl had just told her to mind her own freaking buisness. In her entire spoiled life as a highly desireable prince, no one had ever done that to her. No girl, anyway.

Akane stalked around the corner and down the corridor to her chambers, throwing open the huge, ornate doors and slamming them behind her. As soon as she was in her sanctuary, she allowed herself a moment to lean against the doors and cradle her head in her hands.

"Ranma, you dummy," she muttered. She'd already felt weak and stupid when she;d found her friend, and now. . . Wasn't it enough for one day that Kuno would resurface? Wasn't it enough for one day that some strange guy was apparently following her? ANOTHER one? Did she have to listen to this from her . . . only friend. . . was Ranma really her only friend?

Akane put a hand to her mouth, eyes widening in shock.

She did have other friends. . . far away. In other kingdoms. And she was sort of friendly with some of the servants. But ever since that nonsense started with her father trying to marry her off, no one had wanted anything to do with her. Her friends had stopped answering her letters. . . the servants had become cold. . .

Ranma was the first person in years to actually talk to her as an equal, to actually want to be her friend. Yet, even Ranma thought she was a weakling.

Akane shook herself, standing back up. Who needed friends, anyway? Not her. She was just fine on her own, she'd managed on her own for years. Just because she knew she was alone now didn't change anything.

She struggled out of her dress, deliberately shutting down her mind and heart. She didn't want to think just at that moment. She didn't want to think at all, much less feel. She changed into pants and a loose shirt with a sigh of relief. Dressed like this, she didn't have to worry about things. She could pretend that the stresses of her body were the only realities. She could lose herself in kicks and punches. . .

Carefully numb, she strode out of her room and down the hall, out the doors toward the dojo. A flash of light by her feet made her look down.

"My . . . ball?" she whispered, bending to pick up the golden sphere. A soft chuckle around the corner made her freeze. She looked up tiredly. More stupid boys.

"I fished it out for you. I'd like payment for it, of course," a deep voice said. Akane glowered at the corner. The sky was darkening above her. Soon it would be raining, and hard to see. Perfect. She just LOVED fighting off idiots in the rain.

"What sort of payment?" she asked. She wanted to know how stupid he was. He might ask for anything from her hand in marriage to a happy smile. These boys could be so stupid.

"A . . . .a . . .. a . .. k-k-k-k-k-iiiiisssss ack!" the voice said, just as the skies opened and rain began to plop on the ground. Sighing as she felt the water soak through her clothes, she picked up the ball and walked around the corner.

"What the. . .?" she gasped, noticing the distinct lack of a man in front of her. There was only a pile of clothes, a yellow shirt and some pants. . . which were SQUIRMING. . . .

"Squuee!" the pants yelped, and Akane took a step back. She was about two seconds away from bolting when a little black head poked out of the waistband. The rest of the pig followed shortly after, its only decoration a yellow and black bandanna around its neck. The little pig looked up at her with big, adoring eyes.

"Oh, aren't you cute!" Akane smiled, scooping the piglet up in her arms. "A talking piglet!"

"Squeeeee," the pig murmered, sounding sad. Akane carried the pig and the golden ball into the dojo with her, sitting them down.

"You poor thing, you must be cold. If I only had some towels in here. . . ." Akane muttered, looking around. The pig just stared up at her with big eyes, then glanced at the ball. "Oh, that's right! You asked for a kiss in exchange for the ball! I don't mind a pig," Akane laughed, picking it up and pecking it's snout.

"Akane, what are you doing with that pig?" a voice asked from the door. Akane looked up to see Ranma, dripping wet, in the doorway.

"This pig found my golden ball, and asked for . . . oh, never mind. Why are you here?" she snapped, setting the pig back down. The pig, it might be interesting to note, had extraordinarily dilated pupils at this point.

"I. . . I came to . . . spar, with you," Ranma said slowly. Akane frowned.

"But you said. . ."

"I'm . . . I. . . do you want to fight or not?" Ranma asked, closing the dojo door behind her and flipping her pigtail back over her shoulder.

"Yeah," Akane said, rising to her feet. "I do." She narrowed her eyes.

Ranma nodded and waited for the taller girl to charge her, trusting to her speed to carry the fight. She wouldn't actually HIT a girl. . . but if it would keep Akane from crying, she could play a little. As expected, the popular princess came at her with a slow, strong attack. ::For most people, it would be fast,:: Ranma conceded, mentally, as she dodged. ::Just, compared to me, it's nothing. Not even trouble.::

"Fight back!" Akane yelled, aiming a flying kick at Ranma's head. The redhead was about to jump up and let it sail under her but her foot slipped in a puddle. . . . just in time for Akane to make contact and then fall into a heap with her.

Akane landed sprawled across the smaller girl, just long enough for Ranma to realize that there was nothing but two very wet layers of cotton between them. Blood crept up into her face as Akane lifted herself up. For a second, just a second, their eyes met. And then Akane was up again, up and glaring.

::Get a grip, man, you're losing your damn mind! Getting worked up over a tomboy like her!:: Ranma thought, rising to her feet just in time to dodge another attack. She felt a sharp pain in her ankle, and looked down to see the small black piglet biting her as hard as it could.

That was all the opening Akane needed.

"Hhhhhyaaaaaah!" she screamed, punching Ranma in the chin hard enough to send her flying through the roof, in a direct arc towards the kitchens. The pig, still atttatched, squeeed in panic as the ground loomed closer. . . no, not the ground at all but a giant steaming cauldron. . . .

Ranma and the pig landed in the gargantuan tub of water with a splash that sent most of the hot liquid onto the person who'd hauled all the water in the first place. The two came sputtering to the top, and opened their eyes with the resounding cry of:

"You're a GUY!"

Ranma and Ryouga stared at each other in the hot water, as the boy with the long brown hair and giant spatula fumed.

"Just what are you doing? Does this look like a bathtub to you?" the long-haired boy fumed. Ranma and Ryouga ignored him.

"Who. . . who are you?" Ryouga asked, staring at Ranma's black hair and noticably flatter chest. Ranma frowned at him, crossing his arms.

"Ranma Saoto. . . ah!" he yelped in surprise as the strange boy in the bandanna punched him on the arm.

"I knew you looked familiar! I'm Ryouga Hibiki, we used to train together back when our countries were allies! Remember?"


	4. A Cinderfella Complex

Dislcaimer: Don't own, don't sure

Chapter 4

"All right, let me get this straight," the strange boy said, gripping his spatula so hard that his knickles were white. "You were knocked into my pot by a Princess who, from what I've heard, couldn't lift a pillow on her own. And you," he glowered at Ryouga, "were naked because, until the hot water hit you, you were a little black piglet."

"Yeeeeeees?" Ryouga squeaked, firmly grasping the towelt aht was wrapped around his midsection. The kitchen was a mass of moving, bustling bodies, people stepping around them, over them, in an effort to prepare enough food for the up coming ball. The boy with the spatula sat in silence for a long moment, drumming his fingers on the ground. At long last he sighed, apparently having come to some decision.

"Yukoto! Mari! Get me two kettles of water, one hot and one cold!" he bellowed out. Two of the kitchen maids seperated themselves from the crowd and bobbed breifly to the spatula-weilder.

"Yes, mistress!" they both shouted, scurrying off again. Ryouga and Ranma blinked, simultaneously leaning closer to the stranger.

"Mistress?" they asked, again in unison. Ukyou looked at them in surprise.

"Of course. Do I really look that much like a guy?" she asked, pointing at her face.

"Yep," Ryouga muttered. She swung at him with her spatula, but stopped herself short of hitting him. The expression on her face was thoughtful.

"I suppose it IS a good thing. . . that way I don't have to put up with suitors. . ." she murmered. Ranma almost, almost asked her what made her think she was so irresistable, but that was about the time that the maids arrived with the water. His question was lost in the tumultuos full body tingling that accompanied the change.

"So it is true," Ukyou whispered, her eyes wide as she surveyed the man and the pig in front of her. She handed Ranma the kettle of hot water, turning away for the sake of Ryouga's modesty.

"We wouldn't lie," Ranma replied, blandly. "I'm Ranma Saotome, by the way. I'd, ah, appreciate it if you kept this to yourself."

"Ryouga Hibiki," Ryouga announced, flipping his hand up in an introductory gesture. "Same sentiment."

"I'm Ukyou Kuonji," the brunnette informed them. She smiled, shrugging. "I have no reason to tell anyone."

"How do we know you won't?" Ryouga asked, narrowing his eyes. Ukyou blinked at him.

"How about. . . we all take an oath of secrecy, right now?" she suggested.

It was done. Thoughtlessly, recklessly, it was done, and after that moment honor restrained all of them.

"Oh, please? Please please please please? You'll be the most beautiful girl there, I promise," Akane wheedled, holding out the seafoam green dress. Ranma looked at the thing in abject horror. More accurately, Ranma looked at the corsets that would accompany said dress in abject horror.

"You have got to be kidding. Me? Wear something like that?" she squeaked, unable to keep her voice level.

"Oh, you can't make me go out there by myself! How am I ever going to fend all those boys off on my own?" she asked. Ranma blinked, an image growing in his mind that he really didn't like. Akane, being dragged out onto a balcony by a liscentious wolf of a man, a man who knew the quickest way to wiggle a woman out of a corset. A man like Tetewaki Kuno, more than likely. And she would be in one of those ridiculous dresses, unable to defend herself. . .

A ball, Ranma reflected, was a terrible idea. Sure, it would force Akane to speak to all those men she scorned. . . something he knew her father wanted. . . but it also. . . well, to hell with it, it forced him into an uncomfortable position.

"All right. Hey, we don't have a lot of time. Better start torturing me right away," Ranma conceded. Akane grinned and threw her arms around the neck of the small redhead. For a moment, Ranma's heart stopped. No one ever touched Prince Ranma like that, that impulsive familiarity. . . much less a girl. But it didn't mean the same thing, did it? Akane wasn't trying to flirt, she wasn't taking liberties, she was just being touchy-feely like all the girls he knew. . .

Why was that more upsetting than comforting?

"Nettie will help you get dressed, I have to go get my own dress on," Akane giggled, rolling her eyes. Ranma watched her go with a sinking feeling in his gut. No way this night was going to end well. Just no way.

"P-chan!" he heard Akane's voice from the hallway. Waving aside the attentions of Nettie for a moment, he peeked out the door to see Akane cuddling a little black piglet to her chest.

"Ryouga?" he whispered, taking a step toward the two. Ryouga looked up at him with big triumphant eyes from his place between Akane's breasts. Murderous thoughts filled Ranma's mind.

"Ranma, you remember the piglet? I think it's following me!" she smiled softly down at the little animal. "I just had to give him a name. P-chan! Isn't it cute?"

"Sure," Ranma grumbled, glowering at the pig. "Here, can I have him?"

"No, he's cold. I'm going to take him to my room and sit him by the fire," Akane declined, shaking her head. But.. . but. . . but. . .

"But you're going to be changing in there!" Ranma sputtered. Akane gave him an odd look. A sort of you-just-grew-antenna look.

"It's just a pig, Ranma," she frowned. Then she was gone, and the little pervert was gone with her.

"Oh, Ryouga is SUCH a dead man when I find him. . ." Ranma seethed. A light touch on his shoulder reminded him that there was work to be done. Resigned, he turned back into the bedroom and let Nettie strap him into some of the most disgusting torture devices ever known to man. His waist was squeezed, his breasts pushed up to an alarming height, his feet shoved into pinching, unstable shoes and his hair pulled back into an elaborate coif so tight he thought his scalp would pop off. Then came the gloves. Ah, the gloves!

Feeling as though circulation to every major part of his body had been cut off, he shuffled into the hallway. Shuffled, because he couldn't walk properly in the shoes. It was labored, because he was wearing nigh on forty pounds of fabric. After what seemed an eternity of stuffy dark passageways and smoky torches, he reached the ballroom.

It was a treasure trove of candles and gems, everything gave off light or reflected it. Men and women swirled around to the beat of the half-drunk musicians, the entire room a haze of smoke, light and chaotic melody. There was, of course, the obligatory giant balcony off of the main ballroom. There were also, however, numerous small alcoves built into the wall where people would talk without being seen. Or, more to the point, where they could simply not be seen.

Ranma had always hated balls. Always, always. Never before, however, had he had such a reason. As soon as he entered the room, men began swarming him, begging him for a dance, to let him fetch a drink, to let him have a private word. Ranma turned them all away with snarls and glares, but still they kept coming. He couldn't begin to imagine how the women he knew managed.

He was going to kill Akane for talking him into this. Seriously.

"The Princess Akane!" someone shouted, obviously an announcer of some kind. Everyone in the room stopped and stared at her, Ranma included. Most of them were trying to match her with descriptions in countless sonnets. Some were trying to see in her the happy girl that had once danced in these halls. He was the only one that was looking for the tomboy in the bejeweled woman. He could find her, traces of her, but as for the rest. . . it made his heart thud. Why? Was it fear? Fear that somehow he would not be able to protect a woman such as her from the eager crowds of men? Or, more likely, fear that her protection mattered so much?

What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he move? Why was his stomach trying to claw its way out of his throat? Why did his eyes keep straying to the pale skin of her throat, the smooth curves of shoulder, breast, hip . . . he'd never really noticed that sort of thing before, why her? Why here? Why now?

Akane began to move through the room, slowly, her dark eyes flashing a challenge. Take me if you can, they said, but only if you don't mind dying.

The men in the room shifted, a little at first, then in droves, until they were all surrounding her. What was it that she ahd said? She was the prize in the newest, grandest game? He could see that. They were like a bunch of peacocks, or stags, fighting for one female, preening and jabbing as they went.

After only a few minutes, his ribs were aching from the corset, his feet were aching from the shoes, and his head was aching from the coif. And it looked like all that fine work was going to be wasted. There was no way he could stay close enough to Akane to protect her. What was he going to do, follow her on the dance floor? Trail along, wading through his own stupid suitors, like a third wheel?

"To hell with this," he snarled, turning and looking for an exit. He found one at last, a long brightly lit corridor. There was a panda sitting in one of the windows along the corridor, looking out at the crescent moon. "Oyaji!"

"Aren't you just adorable," the sign said. Ranma blinked at the sign, then at the panda who was weidling it.

"How'd you learn to write so fast?"

"Nessecity."

"Aha," Ranma mumbled, thinking about that for a moment. He shook his head, instantly regretting the movement as it jerked his hair around. "Could you tell me where to get some guy clothes?"

"Down the hall, big gilt doors, ask the king," the sign read. Ranma nodded at his father, and continued on the way. It was a long corridor, and walking down it gave Ranma plenty of time to think. Unfortunately, thinking wasn't what he wanted just at that second.

'You're falling for that damn princess, you know you are. Stop trying to be so tough. . . .'

'I'm gonna figure out a way to cure this curse and leave this place and NEVER come back. . .'

"Ryouga is such a dead man. . . where have I heard the name Kuonji?'

'I'm not falling for her, stupid tomboy princess, I'll never fall for anybody because there is noone who could even BEGIN to understand me. . .'

'Liar.'

'She's gonna marry that damn Kuno anyway, she said they'd already kissed. . .'

"Excuse me, miss, are you lost?" a polite voice asked, outside of Ranma's head. He blinked at the guard in front of him, his head still spinning from the vortex of thoughts.

"Ah, no. No. I'm. . . Princess Ranma, and the king is expecting me. Has to do with a marriage contract for Ms. Akane, you understand," Ranma smiled in what he hoped was a winning manner. The guard looked at him dubiously for a moment, then shook his head.

"I'm sorry, the king asked that no one disturb him tonight," the guard replied. "Why don't you go back to the ball and enjoy yourself?"

A few seconds later, the guard was lying in a crumbled heap. Ranma stepped over him, grateful to know pressure points, and opened teh massive gilrt doors.

The apartments behind the doors were surprisingly spartan, with plain wooden furniture and a simple stone fireplace. There was a dark-haired man sitting by the fire, staring blankly at a notebook as tears poured down his face.

"Mr. . . . Tendo?" Ranma asked, tentitavely. The man's head snapped up, and he regarded Ranma with open hostility.

"What do you want?" he barked. Ranma flinched.

"I'm Ranma Saotome. My father told me to borrow men's clothing from you?"

Boys. An endless sea of mindless, drooling, stupid, boys. If she were to never see a boy again in her entire life, it would be too soon. Every five seconds they wanted something new from her. Actually, the little things they wanted changed. The big thing was eternal. Everyone wanted her as a bride to show off, as a name to put on the wedding invitations.

"Of course I'd like to dance," she smiled, tired already. The man she'd aquiesced to was tall, blonde, handsome, the works. He was also incredibly, unerringly dull. He danced with her as though he'd only seen the steps in a textbook once or twice. He did not, however, try to get her into an alcove. He didn't try to drag her out onto a balcony either. She coudl sense the men hovering just a little bit away from the dancers, seething with jealosy. Well, let them. Nothing she did was going to make this any better.

She hated balls. She had hated balls since she was fourteen.

"Excuse me, may I cut in?" a deep voice asked, somewhat sarcastically. She turned to face the intruder, a smart retort dying on her lips. She had no need of arrogance, not on nights like this. But it was him. The man who'd saved her from Kuno. The man who reminded her so much of Ranma. He was glowering at the blonde man as though trying to boil his blood, intimidating in all black. His hair, as black as his suit, floated just beyond his shoulders.

"Of course," the blonde man murmered, stepping away. The stranger took her into his arms, stiffly, formally, and began dancing with her. His eyes shifted from side to side, as if he expected to be attacked. Which, given his current situation, wasn't all that unreasonable.

"Who are you?" she hissed. He looked down at her in surprise, almost pausing in his step.

"I'm R. . . really just another guy, you know?" he replied, laughing nervously. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I want a name, and a country of origin. While you're at it, you can tell me what the hell you're doing here," she snapped. His blue eyes darkened.

"You always this much of an ingrate?"

"What do you mean, ingrate?"

"I saved you from that smooth-talking jackass, and all you do is fire twenty questions at me!"

"SAVED me? I was doing just fine, thank you very much. . ."

"You? You couldn't save yourself from so much as a wild dog in those ridiculous dresses. . ."

"How would you know?"

"Beleive me, I know," he snarled. They glared at each other in silence for a moment, still swirling on the dance floor. That is, after all, what the daugfhters and sons of kings are taught to do at balls. Even during marraige proposals and epitaphs, they keep dancing so long as there is music.

"Why can't you tell me your name? Are you a fugitive?" she asked, her voice softer, quieter. He inhaled sharply, and she saw ti even beofre he had a chance to deny her words. "So you are. What are you hiding from?"

"My. . . my mother," he whispered, looking away. It was the truth. The absolute, bona fide truth. If only she knew how well he could hide now.

Much to his surprise, a small gloved hand pushed gently against his cheek, pulling his gaze back to the bejeweled woman in front of him.

"Why? And why come here?" she asked.

"I have friends here. Allies," he asnwered. She sighed ruefully, smiling a bit at the crowds around them.

"I only have one friend, and I cannot seem to find her. How is it that you have more friends in my kingdom than I do?" she asked, her tone playful. The words, however, brought a lump to Ranma's throat. He was her only friend? It made sense, now that he thought of it, from what he had seen of her life. . .

"Truthfully, in this kingdom, I only have one friend. She took me in, though. Gave me clothing, food, a place to stay." A place where I am not judged as a prince, but as a person. There went that whole thought thing again. If only he could avoid doing that. . . if only he could avoid thinking about her. . . it would sure as hell be a lot less confusing.

"And who is your friend? I might know her," Akane pressed on. Ranma snorted, pulling her closer so they could spin faster, so he wouldn't have to watch out so much for other dancers. She narrowed her eyes at him when their bodies touched, but he didn't notice.

"You might, at that, but I won't tell you her name."

"Why do you feel you need to protect me?" Akane asked, more onf an edge to her voice. the edge, also, went unnoticed by Ranma.

"You need it. You're trying to take on the whole world but really you're just a tomboy that people go easy on. . . " Ranma's grip on her grew tighter as she tried to pull away.

"I am no weakling, let me go or I will kill you for this!" she hissed at him. Anger surged through his body, and before he knew it her was clutching ehr to him so tightly she couldn't move away. They continued to swirl on the dance floor, as if oblivious, but now her feet dangled in the air and he, unthinkling, moved them both.

"I go out of my way to protect you, and you threaten me! I don't even know why it means so much to me. . . you're a stubborn, ingrate tomboy with legs like tree trunks. . ." Akane tried to kick him, but the layers of fabric she wore prevented him from really feeling it. "and you do nothing but make my life difficult, looking after you. You go out of your way to put yourself in danger, and then when I try to help you I get yelled at! What is it that you want, Akane?"

He stopped, suddenly, and the look in his eyes frightened her. This was a martial artist. A blooded martial artist, by the looks of him. She recoiled away from him, and when he felt it, hurt and shame filled his eyes. He loosened his grip a little, looking away.

"Tell. . . tell you what, Akane. You've got a choice. You can stay here, and I'll go. I'll leave your country, head out somewhere else, if this is what you want. To be fawned over by these idiots. Or, I can get you out of here, make you dissapear right out under their noses, and drop you off in your chambers," he offered. Akane blinked up at him, suspicion filling her eyes.

"You could do that? get me to my chambers?" she asked. He shrugged.

"You just hop down off the balcony and hop up a few stories. There are good footholds in the walls, you can just hop up. Like stairs."

"And how do I know that, once away from all these people, you won't rape me?" she asked, the question very soft. He jerked away from her as if hit.

"You don't think that I could. . ."

"Obviously you could," she snapped, gesturing towards the arms holding her captive. They loosened immeadiately.

"I give you my word as a martial artist, I would never do such a thing," he swore. His second oath of the day. She looked at him hard for a moment, then sighed and closed her eyes.

"All right. But if I live to regret this I'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth and torture you in every way imaginable," she said, almost sweetly. He gulped, and nodded.

'Rapist, she thinks you're the kind that would force a person. . . she hates you already, and don;t you hate her? Just a little part of you, even, don't you hate her? Hate and love, love and hate, you don;'t know anything about either. . . .' the voices in his head chanted on. Ranma led Akane out to the balcony. After looking around to make sure noone was watching, he leapt to the ground with her in his arms. From there, he leapt up the side of the inside wall, from balcony to balcony. At last he landed on the balcony that belonged to her, a pretty thing contructed of white stone overlooking the garden. Without so much as a word of goodbye, he dropped down into the dark night.

"Wait!" Akane cried, reaching out to the place where he had dropped from sight. "You never told me your name," she whispered, then the shaking began in earnest. It was the shaking that comes with shock, the shock of feeling helpless for the first time in years. she sank to her knees on the balcony, staring into the black sky. He could have done whatever he wanted with her. As long as that man was around, she wasn't safe.

Hours later, Ranma found her kneeling on the balcony, her eyes closed and her mouth set in a thin line. He touched her shoulder, and she turned to him, almost in tears, telling him tales of a frightening stranger. He comforted her with his small, female body, cradling her as she shook all over again, as she snifled and tried not to cry. As le listened, his heart screamed in his small ribcage. He had become, for her, the embodiment of all she had tried to avoid for the last few years. He was the man who could force her into anything, even marriage. He had become an object of fear.

Most disturbing of all, she didn't even know him. She'd shown him such kindness at first, he could still feel the gentle touch of her gloved hand on his cheek. she ahd shown kindness to a stranger, as always. The difference was, this stranger frightened her in a way Ranma-onna hadn't, in a way no other man had. Maybe there was a real difference between his girl side and boy side. If the reaction of Akane was any indication, his boy side was a monster. That couldn't be right, could it?

How could she see the real him when he was a girl, but not a boy? DIdn't she know, couldn't she tell, that holding her like this, cradling her while she cried, was the closest he'd ever been to a woman? How could she think that he. . . he only vaguely even knew what the word rape meant, much less how to go about it. Did he seem like a womanizer, a controller, a violent man?

"And. . . he l-looks just like you," Akane gasped, her breath ragged.

It was only a matter of time before she knew. And when she did, would she hate him? Would she despise all of him, male and female?


	5. Moonlight Sonata: Interlude

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue

Chapter 5

How could she see the real him when he was a girl, but not a boy? DIdn't she know, couldn't she tell, that holding her like this, cradling her while she cried, was the closest he'd ever been to a woman? How could she think that he. . . he only vaguely even knew what the word rape meant, much less how to go about it. Did he seem like a womanizer, a controller, a violent man?

"And. . . he l-looks just like you," Akane gasped, her breath ragged.

It was only a matter of time before she knew. And when she did, would she hate him? Would she despise all of him, male and female?

"Why does he frighten you so much? Surely he didn't do anything to you?" Ranma asked, softly. Akane straightened, pulling away. Ranma watched her with guarded eyes. He would have to tell her, before she found out on her own. Would she look at him with fear? Would she recoil?

"It's just. . . I rely on my strength, to keep me safe from . . . from boys. . . and now I'm beginning to think it won't be enough. I'm beginning to think that maybe I'm not strong enough to protect myself. First you come along, and you beat me easily, and now him . . . he could trap me into marriage right now, did you know that?" Akane looked up at Ranma with a burning defiance in her eyes. "If anyone saw us leaving the ball together, he could say he'd taken advantage of me and then I'd be trapped in a marriage with a stranger. . . I don't even know why I allowed that. . ."

"I'm sure he wouldn't. . ." Ranma began, horrified at what she thought of him. Akane cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Don't you be so sure! Men always betray you, Ranma, they don't even think of us as human beings. . . we're just property wrapped in corsets. . ."

"That isn't true!" Ranma yelled, purely out of reflex. "I don't think that about you at all! Some of the other princesses, maybe, but they're so bloody plastic and fake that they probably AREN'T human beings!"

"Yeah, but you aren't a guy!" Akane shot back, glaring. Ranma blinked at her for a moment.

"Of course I . . . ah, um . .." she stuttered, trailing off. Akane was in full battle-aura glory now, waves of red-hot angry ki radiating off of her.

"You don't know how they think, Ranma. I've been dealing with this crap for years now, and let me tell you, they're all the same. They've been raised to think that women are worth as much as the fertile ground given in their dowry, women are just vehicles to bear children, just housekeepers. . . I just wish I could never marry at all," she looked away, the battle aura fading a bit as her tone softened. "I could run the kingdom, I know I could. The only problem would be heirs, but then, I'm sure Kasumi and her miracle man have had a few children by now. Maybe, if I can just make it to twenty-five or something, become an old maid, none of them will want me anymore. . ." her voice trailed off, sad. Ranma swallowed hard. That sounded an awful lot like his life plan, to be brutally honest. Of course, he'd figured he'd have to have some kids, but they could probably stay with whoever their mother was. . .

Dear gods, was it true? Did he really think of women like that? A vehicle for making children?

"But he could wreck all of that," Akane whispered, her voice bringing him back to the present. "He's stronger than me, I don't even know how much stronger. He could rape me, then tell the world and I would have to marry him to preserve some semblance of honor." She laughed, a mirthless laugh. "It's not as though it hasn't happened before. Hell, in some of the smaller kingdoms around here, it's standard procedure."

He wanted to tell her that he'd never do that. He wanted to tell her that he'd never force her into that, that he'd protect her if he had to. . . but how could he without giving away his secret? He never wanted anyone to know about that. . .

But that Ukyou girl knew, now. Ryouga knew. Why shouldn't Akane know, as well?

'Because she'll hate me,' the voice in his head whispered. He shoved it back down to the depths of the caverns in his mind. He couldn't be a coward, now. He thought he might die if he couldn't make that haunted look in her eyes go away.

"Akane? I have, um, something to tell you," he whispered, fiddling with his bright red braid. Akane waved his words away with a tired gesture.

"It's all right, Ranma. I already know."

"You WHAT?" he cried, his heart stopping for a moment. She smiled up at him, rising to her feet shakily.

"I've known since we met, Ranma. It was just so obvious, the way that you looked at me when I pulled you under the umbrella. And not letting me change in the same room as you. . ." Akane smiled again, with more mirth this time as she pulled off some of her jewelry. She walked right past him, into her room, and laid the heavy metal down. He couldn't even turn to watch her. He felt as if he'd never move again, he was stone, stone and rooted to her balcony. . . .

"I've actually thought about it, you know? What it would be like, to be like you," she said slowly. Ranma stared out at the lights from the ball, still going on, feeling his blood slow in his veins. "To be able to love a woman, and not feel the constant frustration of knowing that no man will ever be worth it. . . women are easier to deal with, Ranma. I understand completely. I was even wondering. . . if you have feelings for me. . ."

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Ranma rasped, feeling her breath come short in her throat. There was silence behind her for a moment.

"You like girls, don't you?" Akane asked at last.

"What in the bloody screaming hell does that have to do with anything?" Ranma asked, turning around to face her at last. Akane stood in her petticoats, shift and corset, holding her heavy brocade dress in her hands. Ranma's blood froze, those bright blue eyes traveling over the soft white lace that floated around her ankles. He'd seen her in less, to be sure. The gi she wore so often exposed nearly all of her. But this. . . these were undergarments, feminine and soft, things he should never see her in. . .

"Well, wasn't that what you were going to tell me? That you. . . you prefer women to men?" Akane asked, blinking. Ranma stared at her, uncomprehending for a moment.

"What are you doing?" he asked, at long last, gesturing towards the dress she held in her hands. That seemed to be the most pertinent point. If only he could figure out why in the hell she insisted on being half-naked around him. . .

"This gown weighs nigh on forty pounds," Akane sniffed, laying it down across her bed. Her bed. She was standing half naked next to her bed.

How many men his age would kill to be where he was at that exact moment?

All in a rush, what she was trying to say got through his thick skull. She thought he was a lesbian? A wave of relief rushed over him. So she didn't know his secret after all! She didn't know he was a man!

The relief was closely followed by panic. She thought he preferred women because of his reactions to her? She thought that he had. . . feelings for her? Was that why she was standing in her underwear? Was she. . . did she want his girl side, and not his boy side?

"You've got this all wrong," he whispered, scrubbing his small, feminine face with the palms of his hands. "Please, please get dressed again."

"You've seen me in less. In fact, you're wearing less right now. I've never met a princess so hung up on clothing," Akane retorted, her hands on her hips.

"You're saying most girls just lounge around and talk in their undergarments?" he fired back, getting angry now. She was just another girl chasing him, wasn't she? Just another princess chasing after the great, the unreachable, Prince of the Saotome kingdom. . .

"You don't think we stand around in our dresses all the time, do you? The things are atrocious," she muttered. She bit her lip, looking briefly heavenward as if asking for patience, then looked back at him.

"Look, I'm taking this thing off so I can breathe. You can stay, or go, if it makes you that uncomfortable. But. . . no matter whether you like boys or girls, you're still one of the few real friends I have, and I wish. . . I wish we could just keep that friendship," Akane muttered, looking away at the last moment. Ranma blinked at her.

Earlier, she had said he was her only friend. And even though she thought he liked her, she still just wanted. . . to be friends. . .? Disappointment and relief washed over him simultaneously, making him feel almost like a leaf caught in a whirlwind.

"I'll stay," he whispered, sinking to the floor. He sat there, knees drawn up to his chest, as he watched her struggle with her corset. Eventually she wiggled out of it, and slipped out of two of her petticoats. She sat on the bed clothed in little more than silence, a thin cotton shift and a white cotton skirt. She was beautiful, her hair falling loose around her shoulders, tangling, her breasts coming to small points where her nipples strained against the white fabric. Ranma looked at his feet, feeling the blood rush to his face.

He'd really never noticed anything like that before, most of the time the only way he could tell a boy from a girl was the skirt. But her. . . maybe it was because he knew her so well now? Maybe it was because she was sitting on her bed, in her underwear, the most desired woman in the world. . .

"So, what made you think that I like girls?" he asked, his voice darker, huskier than he would have liked.

"You. . . you blushed when I took your hand, the first day we met. And ever since then, you've been hovering around me like some sort of protective boyfriend, fighting off boys when they come after me. I thought. . . I thought at first you were just shy, but then the way you'd look at me sometimes, when you think no one can see. . ." she trailed off. Ranma felt a little piece of his world crumble. So she knew, she could see what he'd tried so hard to hide, even from himself.

"It's okay, you know. I don't mind. I just. . . I don't want to lose you as a friend," she continued. Ranma chuckled to himself. Of course. She had no idea. Speaking of ideas, one hit him in the head with all the force of a falling tree. She could feel safe from his boy side without knowing it was him!

"Don't worry, Akane, I'm not going anywhere just yet. That guy you were talking about earlier, the devilishly handsome one with the jet-black hair?"

"I did NOT say he was handsome. . ."

"Do you think I could beat him?"

"Maybe," Akane said thoughtfully, regarding Ranma with narrowed eyes. "Probably. Why do you ask?"

"Ifyou want, I could protect you from him. No one would see anything wrong with that, would they? I mean, I could be sort of like your bodyguard, and no one could say there was anything indecent going on between us," he suggested. Akane beamed down at him, and it was like the sun emerging from behind a mountain.

"That's a wonderful idea, Ranma!" she cried. "Would you really do that for me?"

"Why not? He, ah, sounds like a challenge," Ranma muttered, scratching the back of his head and laughing nervously.

-----------------

Saotome. Ukyou just knew she'd heard that name somewhere. It was important, somehow, but she couldn't place it.

An artist? No, not an artist or a minstrel. Someone with power.

A warrior of some kind? A name from a fairy tale of some sort? Perhaps. Just perhaps.

There was a kingdom ruled by the Saotomes, but she couldn't remember any royal families every having a combination son and daughter. It would have struck a chord, she was sure if that were the case her father would have arranged for her to marry the transgender freak, since she herself appeared so confused. . .

THAT WAS IT!

Saotome! Ranma Saotome was the name of that little blue-eyed boy her father had engaged her to all those years ago. It was a matter of military alliance, as she recalled it. No matter now, it wasn't as if she could go home. . .

Bur she could. If she were married, she could go home. She wouldn't have to worry about her father, she could go back to her garden and her kitchen and her friends. . . If she could just find a suitable husband. . . or better yet, convince Saotome to live up to the promise of his parents. Sure, he was a stranger, but she had always expected to marry a stranger. He was handsome enough, he knew martial arts. He appeared to be infatuated with that Akane girl, but then, who wasn't?

She would seduce Saotome, marry him, take him home, and never have another care in the world.

Starting tommorow.

----------------

She knew. She knew before he did, even. He wasn't quite willing to call it love, after all, love is a scary, long-term sort of thing. But he did have feelings for her, didn't he? He did want her to be happy. He wanted her to be happy with him.

He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, he wanted to know the taste of her lips and the feel of her arms around his neck. . . he had never wanted a woman before, never even thought about it. Maybe it was just that he knew her. It was easy to say so, since he'd never really taken the time to speak with many women. But maybe it was her. Maybe there was a real reason all these men chased after her.

In any case, it didn't matter. He was cursed, and could never hope to offer anyone a normal life. Better for everybody if he just dissapeared. But he couldn't, not him, he couldn't run away from anyone, anything. . .

Certainly not her. That little slip of a girl? Surely not.

He had access to the most desired woman in the world. He knew how to win her over, knew what she wanted, knew what she feared. And he wanted her. How could he back down from this challenge? Ranma Saotome NEVER BACKS DOWN!


	6. The Yellow Dwarf, part 1

There was really only one thing left to do. He set the notebook down carefully, smiling at the food smudges. He gently touched a yellowed fingerprint, feeling tears springing to his eyes. His wife's most prized possesion. She had collected recipies in this notebook since she was a little girl, and now. . . now he did have things of hers still, that much was true. He had her gowns, her jewelry, her books, a portait of her. But nothing was as much her as the little smudges of food in her cookbook.

"Your highness?" the head kitchen maid asked. Soun Tendo waved her away.

"Leave the kitchen, please. I have a personal recipe I want to make."

He heard shuffling behind him, silent and solemn. He was sure all the scullery maids would be glad of the extra rest, a party is terribly rough on servants. That wasn't, however, why he wanted the kitchen to himself.

Akane had left the party last night, unseen, unaccompanied. She was deliberately avoiding his attempts to see her settled down. He fingered the cookbook gingerly. She was all he had left of his family. How could she begrudge him the continuation of that family? The chance to feel surrounded by loved ones once more?

There was only one thing left to do: ask someone else to fix his problems. Sadly, the only person wise enough to help him was the aged, gnarled witch of the desert. Even sadder, she was guarded by giant monsters that could only be placated with a specific type of cake.

Happily, his wife had recorded the recipe for said cake.

King Soun rolled his sleeves up, frowning sternly at the list of ingredients. He would see his daughter wed, were she willing or no.

-------------------

Tatewaki Kuno was. . . perturbed. Rather perturbed, really. True love had smote him soundly, visciously, and without any trace of remorse. Not once, but twice.

Who was this mysterious Princess Ranma that followed the fair Akane around? Where had she come from? Why did she insist on dressing like a boy? And where in the name of all the GODS had that girl learned to fight!?

A flash of movement caugh the corner of his eye, disturbing his meditation. It was only to be expected. After all, this was a public garden . . okay, it was a private garden. Akane's private garden. And if that ill-mannered black-haired boy didn't show up, it was a very pleasant place to meditate.

And wait for his loves to come down for a mornign sparring session.

The girl whose movement had cought his eye was not familiar, but she took his breath away. He forgot both of his loves as he gazed upon her shining locks, her determined face, her figure revealed all to well by her simple servant's dress. A pauper? This radiant beauty, a pauper? It could not be so. He would marry her and make her the queen she deserved to be. . . .

"Ranma?" she called out, her voice as clear as her lapis lazuli eyes. Or were they emerald? Peridot? It was so hard to see from where he was. . .

"My love, she is not here," he called, rising to his feet and striding over to the fair one. She watched him impatiently, no doubt longing to be in his arms.

"What are you on?" she asked, her tone exasperated.

"The vapors of true passion! Wilt thou be my queen, and live with me forever in my. . ."

"Sorry, Prince Kuno. We've discussed this already. I turned you down, remember?" she asked. He blinked at her, then finally saw the spatula on her back.

"UKYOU KUONJI?" he cried, despairing. Which was she, maddening temptress or foolish cross-dresser? Why couldn't she make up her mind?

"Yeah, sugar, you got it. Can you tell me where Ranma is?" she asked.

"With Akane, as usual," said a dark voice from somewhere to the left. They both turned to see a boy clad all in yellow, leaning against a tree trunk. He was staring off into the underbrush, glum and unseeing. "They're still asleep. I, personally, couldn't take it any more. I'd advise you not to go up there."

"Up where?" Ukyou asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Her room, of course," he replied, his tone entirely despondent. Kuno looked from one of them to the other.

"How do you know all of this, you vile yellow-clad cretin?" he spat. The boy turned to him, glowering.

"I'll have you know I'm King of the Gold Mines," he spat back. "And as for knowing, let's just say I have a little piggy spy."

"You what?" Kuno asked. Ukyou and the stranger, however, were ignoring him.

"Wish we'd never made that promise," the stranger grinned, flashing a few fangs. Ukyou nodded, grimly.

"You think they're . . . you know. . . together?" she asked.

"What would you care?"

"It's none of your buisness, really, let's just say I have a vested interest."

"Oh, really? Since when?"

"Since NOW, jackass!"

"Well, what do you suggest? That we go up there and break some furniture, forbidding them to ever speak lest they face our wrath?" the stranger asked, color rising in his face. Ukyou stared at him in silence for a long moment.

"Maybe," she said, at long last.

"Oh, come on," he said in disgust. "Like that would work. Ranma would just kick us both out through the roof and she'd run into his arms. . ."

"His?" Kuno interupted, blinking rapidly in confusion. Both argumentative parties froze, a blush spreading across their cheeks.

"Well, ah, hers. Right, Ukyou?" the boy asked, an edge to his voice. She simply sighed and would not answer.

--------------------

Soun Tendo paused in his trek to the witch's house, looking longingly at the shade beneath a gnarled old tree. He could sit and rest for a moment, couldn't he? After all, he was no longer a spry young man, his bones needed all the rest they could get.

He sat down beneath the tree, laying the cakes he'd carefully prepared beside him. Just a nap, that was all. Just a little. . . nap. . .

-------------------

Ranma jolted awake, hitting his head agains the stone wall he had been leaning against. For a second, the blinding pain made him entirely unsure of where he was. Even, really, who he was. But then he curled up into a ball, and felt soft mounds of flesh pressing against his knees. Ah, yes. Girl Ranma.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking as he realized he was sitting on a balcony. Scratch that. He was sitting on Akane's balcony, and she was sleeping nearby. More accurately, she was sleeping soundly and peacefully on her nice, nig feather bed while he crouched on the stone floor.

Why was he here? What in hell could have. . . oh yeah.

_"Please, Ranma, he could come back at any time. He just jumped on up here with me in his arms, me and all that dress weight. Please stay with me tonight?"_

_"All right," he'd muttered, and leaned against the wall. She had frowned at him._

_"You don't have to sleep on the floor," she started, but he'd cut her off with a glare. _

_"Yeah, I do. Look, unless you have . . . feelings for me like you THINK I have for you, don't offer that kind of thing. Don't make my life any harder than it already is, sister."_

He'd spent the night on her balcony, protecting her. . . from himself. And, of course, thinking up ways to ensure she'd never feel the need to be protected from him again. Stretching, he rose to his feet and stumbled toward her desk. There had to be paper and ink over there, right?

He found what he was looking for and scrawled a quick note. He left it by her head. She was sleeping soundly, her face relaxed into a soft smile while her hair fell all around her, snaking across white sheets and white bedclothes alike. He could reach out and touch that face, that arm, feel the warmth of her skin stretching out smooth under his hands. . .

"This is stupid," he muttered, turning away from her and walking towards the door. He left her, closing the door behind him quietly. That was it, then, his first night as her protector. Thank goodness only that little pig Ryouga had seen him, what if someone misconstrued things? Or, even worse, realized that the pigtailed princess and pigtailed stranger were one and the. . .

"Morning, sugar," a voice said behind him. He jumped three feet in the air, whipping around. It was only that girl with her spatula, regarding him from under thick eyelashes. What the heck did SHE want?

"Morning?" Ranma offered, nervously. She smiled, and reached out for his hand. He drew it back, looking at her as if she'd grown a third head. What was she thinking? She knew he was a guy, a Prince, and yet she acted towards him the way Akane did . . . did she have something on her mind? Wedding bells rang through Ranma's mind, and only Ukyou's sudden firm grip on his shoulder kept him from bolting.

"You and I have unfinished buisness, Ranchan. Something our fathers agreed to."

Ranchan? Oh, he was in trouble. Big, big trouble.

----------------

"Trouble" is not the word one uses when one wakes up to find that one's cakes are gone, and the monsters guarding the palace of the witch are coming. "Shit!" is a word often used, as well as "Holy crap!" Soun, when he found himself in this situation, was understandably perturbed, but used somewhat different phrases.

"Help, help! For the love of God and all that is holy. . ."

"Well, now, what have we here?" sneered a high, pinched voice. Soun looked up, and saw a wrinkled old man in a maroon gi, smoking a pipe. "Stranded royalty, is it? What are you willing to pay me to get out of this predicament?"

"Anything, anything!" Soun begged, tears coming to his eyes. The old man's eyes glinted.

"How about the hand of your most beautiful daughter in marriage?" he suggested. Soun nodded his head rapidly.

"Oh, sweeto!" the old man cried, doing a victory jig. He jumped down, pulled open a hidden door in the tree, and yanked Soun inside just as the giant cat and giant duck were upon them.

"You may be assured I'll take good care of her," the old man grinned, rubbing his hands together greedily. Soun looked around the place in dismay. There were bras and underpants everywhere he looked, dirty magazines and aerobic tapes in every corner.

"Is this. . . your house?" he asked, feeling a bit faint. The old man nodded proudly.

"Of course! And she'll live in the lap of luxary here, wearing the best lingerie and posing in front of the best cameras. . ."

Soun, quite understandably, fainted.

--------------

"Don't forget our bargain," a high, pinched voice whispered. Soun jolted awake, sitting up. He was in his bed. He was in his pajamas. It was all a dream.

Thank heavens.

He looked down at his hand, and was shocked to find a lacy white bra clutched in it. Not a dream? Had he actually promised Akane to that. . . that. . . demon?

--------------

"I'm going to go find your Prince Charming and beat some sense into him. Back for lunch, Ranma," Akane read aloud, scratching her head. She pulled her covers off, sliding out of bed. If that was the way Ranma wanted to do it, that was fine with her but. . . what if the stranger hurt her friend?

She stood, stretched, and walked over to her dresser. She splashed her face with some of the water in the basin and began combing her hair. This was the part fo the day she hated. The part of the day where she ahd to go get prettied up. Comb her hair. Wash her face. Put on a corset. . .

Screw the corset. Today, she'd just lounge around in boy's clothes. She wasn't in the mood for metal barbs piercing her kidneys, thank you very much.

She braided her hair back, just to get it out of the way, and slipped into some long, baggy pants and a light blue jerkin. With some leather vanguards, she looked almost like a boy, Almost. Feminine face and breasts aside, she looked like a boy.

She slipped out of her room, hoping to avoid any of the princes today. She really wasn't in a mood for fighting. Maybe she'd go visit her father. .

"You know, you really do look like a guy in that get-up," said a voice behind her. She whirled around, and there he was. Her heart froze in her chest.

"What did you do to Ranma?" she asked, clenching her fists and glaring at him. He blinked at her, then shrugged.

"I didn't do nothing to her. She thinks she beat me, I barely touched her. Actually, she thinks I'm laying unconscious in the forest outside your castle. Wouldn't leave me alone until she thought I was out of it. She's a tough little thing," he said, not moving toward her. He just stood there, hands in the pockets of the suit he wore last night, staring at her. Wasn't he going to glomp her, like all the other idiots?

"If you hurt her, I will make your life hell," Akane promised. Surprisingly, a grin broke out on his face when she said that.

"Don't worry, I like the little redhead. I wouldn't hurt her. What worries me, actually, is what she said about you."

"About. . . me?"

"Yeah. She said you were terrified of me. Terrified that I might force you into marriage. That I might force you into. . . other stuff, too," he added. Akane blinked at him. Did he actually seem. . . sad? "I just want you to know that I wouldn't, that I. . . I couldn't, really. Just because someone is stronger than you it doesn't mean they're going to hurt you."

"It does if they're male," Akane retorted. The comment had a little less sting than usual.

"Not always. Not all of us. Not me. I have no interest in forcing myself on anyone. In fact, I never want to get married at all. I've never wanted anything from any girl, except you," he said. Akane glowered at him, dropping into a fighting stance. So that was it, then? She had to admit, he had her going for a minute. She'd actually almost trusted him, just for a second there.

"And all I want from you is a few kind words. You know, just, like, friendship? Maybe the occasional laugh?" he offered. She blinked at him. He wanted what?

For most girls, Prince Ranma Saotome just turned on the charm. For most girls, he just told them what they wanted to hear until he'd gotten what he wanted, and then told them he had no intention fo marriage, trysting, or anything of the sort. But Akane . . Akane he'd been around enough to know that she wanted what he wanted. And all he wanted, really, truly, was a friend.

And if she thought of his as a friend, then his girl half would never again need to sleep on a cold stone balcony.

"What do you think?" he asked, trying to radiate sincerity.

"I think you've worked out a really nice speech, but you need to go before I kick your ass," Akane growled. The stranger blinked at her. "You really had me going for a second there, you know that? I really thought maybe you wanted my friendship, not my reputation, not my crown, not my money, not to win the great grand contest of our age. But you're just like all the others. And you only want one thing. So get out of here before I rip your intestines out."

"Where do you get off?" Ranma yelled, shocked at her outburst. He'd offered her exactly what he thought she wanted, he'd offered her something different and all she could see was every other man she'd ever pummeled into the ground. "What the hell makes you think you're so desirable? I got news for you, lady, if I'd come here with the intention of courting you I would have gone home in disgust. You're more like a man than a woman, more like a servant than a princess, more like a TOAD than a pretty girl! Why anyone would EVER want you is completely beyond me! So you know what? You just sit here and be bitter and alone and ugly and NEVER be happy, because that's what you want!"

With that, he turned on his heel and left. Akane felt tears welling up in her eyes as she watched his retreat. No one had ever spoken to her like that, how DARE he. . but what if he was right? What if all she was doing was making herself lonely?


	7. The Yellow Dwarf, part 2

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue

Chapter 7

"Father?" Akane asked, pausing at the door. He was hunched over in a chair by the fire, his shoulders shaking. She took a hesitant step towards him. "Father, what's wrong?"

There was no answer. A choked sob wrenched itself from his throat. Akane crossed the room to his side, kneeling at the arm of his chair. He didn't look at her. He just stared into the fire, tears streaming down his face.

"Father?" No reply.She touched his shoulder, gently. He felt warm to the touch, almost as if he were feverish. "Father, answer me!"

The King simply stared straight ahead into the flames. Akane jumped to her feet, calling for servants to help her get her father into bed. He didn't resist their manipulation of his limbs, and his eyes never focused, or closed. He stared at the ceiling, with tears streaming down his face, occasionally muttering about the end of his line, the creation of monsters.

He stayed in his bed for three days. The wise men said it was an illness caused by a curse. The people spoke of it being an evil omen. The church men claimed it was punishment for the decadence of Akane's courtship.

As for the Princess, she stayed by her father's side, hardly sleeping. And almost always, a little redhead sat with her, watching as Akane told stories to her ill father, stories of gypsies, adventure, and magic.

--------------

"And then, with the Prince's kiss, Sleeping Beauty awoke from her long rest," Akane said, placing another cool cloth on her father's face. As usual, he didn't respond. "They were married immeadiately, but the Prince feared to bring his bride home, for his mother was the daughter of an ogre, and was in the habit of eating pretty young women."

"She was in the habit of what?" Ranma interjected, blue eyes wide in shock. Akane smiled at her friend, reaching out to ruffle Ranma's red bangs.

"She ate pretty girls. I think she would have found you quite tasty. She had a thing for children too," Akane grinned. Ranma rolled her eyes.

"Let me guess, the ogress eats their kids."

"Don't get ahead of me. Anyway, a few years go by. The Prince snuck out to visit his wife every few weeks, saying he was going hunting. They had two small children. The first was called Morning, and she was very pretty. The second was called Day, because he was even more beautiful than his sister. Day was four when his grandfather, the king, passed away.

"Well, since he had to go home and rule a kingdom, the Prince, who was then crowned king, made his marriage public and brought his family home. All was well until war broke out. The new King had to go lead his troops, leaving his wife and children in the hands of his carnivorous mother.

"As expected, one day the Queen, the ogress I mean, decided she wanted to eat little Morning. She told the cook, and he went into the royal nursery to kill the child. But when he got there, little Morning threw her arms around his neck and asked him for sweets."

"He couldn't do it," Ranma interrupted. Akane nodded.

"No, he couldn't. So he took little Morning home to his cottage at the edge of the garden and served the Queen a lamb for dinner. The same thing happened the next week, when the Queen wanted to eat litte Day. A month later, the Ogre Queen asked the cook to prepare her daughter-in-law for supper. The cook figured he could do that, as the younger Queen was a grown woman and not a child. So he went into her chambers and explained everything to her, without softening the blow.

"She told him to go ahead and kill her, because she believed her children to be dead and she wanted to be reunited with them. She pulled her dress apart and bared her chest to him, telling him to strike at her heart."

"This really, really doesn't sound like a story for kids," Ranma observed. Akane just shot the little redhead a 'shut up' look.

"He found he couldn't bear to kill her either. . . ."

"Probably had a nosebleed," Ranma muttered.

". . . . so he took her to be with her children in his cottage at the edge of the garden, and served the Queen a deer for dinner.

"All was well for a year, and then the Queen was walking in the garden and she heard the voice of her daughter in law, coming from the cook's cottage. She realized at once that she had been decieved, and ordered the cook and the royal family arrested. She prepared for them all a huge cauldron of snakes and other venemous creatures, and told them that at dawn they would all be thrown into it.

"At dawn, the cook, his family, the young Queen, and her little children were all chained in a line in the throne room, waiting to be thrown into the cauldron."

"Then the King comes home, and the Ogress throws herself in instead?" Ranma guess. Akane blinked at her.

"How did you know?"

"There are themes in all of these things. I've been listening to you yammer about fairies and witches for three days now, don't you think I've picked up a few things?" Ranma scoffed. Akane blushed a little.

"Well, no one said you had to stay. If my 'yammering' bothers you, you could always leave," she replied. Ranma rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Jeesh, what is it with you and pushing people away? I'd almost think you want to be alone."

"What do you mean by that?" Akane asked, frowning. That sounded a little too much like what the black-haired young man had said.

Was it obvious to everyone that she was an emotional train wreck?

"Nothing," Ranma muttered, looking down at her callused hands. "Have you heard from that weird guy with the pigtail since I beat him up?"

"I. . . well. . . " Akane had been reluctant to mention that meeting, especially to Ranma. After all, he'd only pretended to be beaten, and she didn't want to hurt Ranma's pride. "Just once. Breifly. It was more like we passed in a corridor, really."

"Do you think he's going to force you into marriage?" Ranma asked, her voice biting, harsh. Akane smiled at her friend, thinking the harshness was protectiveness.

"I don't know. He's strange."

"Strange how?"

"I don't know, strange. Why do you ask?"

"I . . . no reason," Ranma muttered, blushing a bit. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Akane cast about in her mind for something to say, but it was Ranma who spoke first.

"What are you going to do about your father?"

"I. . . I wish I knew what to do," she whispered, bowing her head. So stupid. She couldn't even think of a way to help her father. She didn't even know what was wrong with him. If only Kasumi were still here. Heck, if only Nabiki were still here. She was the strong one, the fighter, not the brains of the outfit. How was she supposed to figure this out?

She felt a hand, light and hesitant, on her shoulder, and glanced up. Ranma's face was only a few inches away, she was leaning over her father's bed to comfort Akane. Akane smiled and squeezed the hand on her shoulder, knowing what that had cost Ranma. Casual touch never seemed to come easy to the petite girl. Every brush of the hands was a cause for a crimson blush, every offer to fix her hair in something more interesting than a braid turned down with stammering words and maroon ears.

"I'm so glad you're here," Akane whispered. Something flitted across Ranma's eyes, something she wasn't used to seeing on the face of a girl, and she drew back. Ranma sat back down, folding her arms over her chest.

It was still weird, to know that Ranma liked girls. That Ranma might like her. If only she could find someone for Ranma to love that might love her back. There was that girl in Kuno's entourage, the one who dressed like a boy. Maybe she might be receptive to the idea. What was her name? Uruka? Ukyou? Urumyou?

"Seems to me the first thing to do is figure out what's wrong with him. You've got doctors, don't you?" Ranma asked, keeping her voice brisk to cover up the slip. Akane sighed.

"They're all stumped. We had a really good doctor by the name of Tofu, a wind wizard's son, but Kasumi ran off with him. . . I wish I knew of someone who could. . ." a light went on in her head, and shone out in her face through a brilliant smile. "I know exactly who to talk to!"

"Who?" Ranma asked, staring as Akane jumped out of her chair and ran over to her father's desk. She pulled a blue notebook out of one of the drawers and turned to Ranma, exuberant now that she had something positive to do.

"No time, to the kitchens!" Akane shouted, running out the door. Ranma stared at her for a moment, then sighed and followed.

No one was there to hear Soun protesting weakly.

-------------------

"Let me get this straight," Ranma growled, pushing his red bangs back out of his face. He was trying very, very hard to ignore Ukyou, who had insisted on helping them in the kitchen. She kept accidentally bumping into him, smiling down at him and batting her eyelashes. So what if his father had engaged them when they were children? They were both exiled from their kingdoms, she because of her father, himself because of his curse. Weren't contracts like that sort of null and void if niether party is in a legal position to call it in?

Worst of all, Akane kept walking across the room, away from them. She was always smiling encouragingly at Ukyou when the chef flirted, as if she approved. As if she wanted to foist me off on Ukyou. If she thinks that's happening, the girl has another thing coming.

Feh. You'd almost think she knows I'm a boy.

"You're going to make some cake, take it to some monsters guarding some witch, and then ask the witch—the one who has monsters to guard her so she won't be disturbed—to help you out of the goodness of her heart?" Ranma asked, quirking an eyebrow at Akane. She glanced at the recipe book, then added a fistful of cumin powder to whatever she was making.

Whatever it was, those monsters must have weird taste to like it.

"Well, I was going to offer her money, but I don't think she likes shopping," Akane said, perfectly serious. Ranma blinked at her. Shopping? What does shopping have to do with a witch? "Do you think she'd like my firstborn or something?"

"You wouldn't!" Ukyou gasped. She had been avoiding talking to Akane the entire time the blue-haired girl had been in the kitchen, but apprently the latest statements shocked her out of her silence. Ranma narrowed his eyes at Akane, who was blinking at them both in confusion.

"It's not like I'm ever going to have kids, anyway. What's wrong with that?" she asked. Ukyou's eye twitched.

"Don't you think, that with all the guys trying to marry you, you'll probably one day have at least one kid?" she asked, drumming her fingers on the countertop. Akane grinned at the exiled princess, adding some oregano and cornstarch to the mixture.

"Don't be silly. I'm not getting married to any of those losers," Akane announced. Ukyou blinked at her for a moment, then a mischevious grin spread across her face.

"What about that guy with the pigtail?" she asked.

"What?" Akane and Ranma snapped, in unison, staring at the chef.

"Well, I hear you two are very close," Ukyou continued. A slow blush crept across Akane's cheeks before she huffed and turned away.

"Yeah, very funny. He's the worst of them all. He's an insensitive jerk, a manipulative bastard who isn't above using people's own desires to achieve his ends," she snapped. She glanced back at Ukyou and Ranma, a harsh frown on her face. "If you see him, trust me, you want to run in the other direction. Don't let the innocent demeanor fool you."

Ukyou gave Ranma a triumphant smile before she left the kitchen. Ranma, for his part, felt as if he were frozen in place. A manipulative bastard?

----------------

Akane set out early the next morning, armed with her special cakes. They were more suitable to being used as projectiles than eatables, but she figured that was the way the monsters liked them. After all, she had followed the recipe, hadn't she?

She was almost to the witch's castle when she saw an old gnarled tree. The grass beneath it looked soft and inviting, and after all, she hadn't been sleeping much lately. She sat down on the grass, tucking her cakes between the roots next to her.

She woke up some time later to the sound of an old man crying. She opened her eyes slowly, still fighting sleep. What she saw upon waking was an old, withered man in a purple gi, crying over the handkerchief she'd packed her cakes in.

The cakes, however, were nowhere to be found.

"Hey! You ate my cakes!" she cried, rising to her feet. The old man turned tearful eyes to her.

"You call those cakes? What were you trying to do, poison me?" he retorted.

"No! Those cakes were for the monsters. . ." As soon as the word left her lips, she heard what sounded like a thousand cats meowing. She looked up, her blood turning to ice in her veins.

The monsters.

They were coming.

"I can save you, if you promise to marry me," the old man offered, a greedy glint in his eyes. Akane jolted as if shot with a crossbow.

"No way! There's no way I could ever. . . ."

Then the monsters were upon them. The giant duck reared his head back, his bill snapping open like the gears of a machine. It was flying towards her, bill wide open. It was going to crush her, eat her. . . at least it would be quick. . . . Akane closed her eyes and waited for the blow. . .

That never came.

She opened her eyes to see the old man sitting on the bodies of the giant cat and the giant duck, smoking his pipe. He turned sunken eyes to her.

"You sure about that? I think you ah, he he, owe me something," he said. Akane took a step back.

"You have to be kidding," she muttered. The old man's eyes darkened.

The world followed.

---------------

Akane woke up in her own bed, wearing nothing but a pair of lacy underwear and a matching bra. Written across the underwear were the words: You'll marry me, willing or not.

And as hard as she tried, she couldn't take either article of clothing off.


	8. The Bridegroom is !

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

Ranma needed to work off some steam. Where was that damn Kuno when you needed him?

A manipulative bastard? Was that how she saw him? And after all he'd done for her! She was unbeleivable! All he wanted was to be able to tell her about his curse without her freaking out. He just wanted her friendship. None of this marriage crap, he hated it as much as her.

I can tell you like girls, because of the way you look at me, sometimes, when you think no one is watching.

Yeah, right. That was just her overinflated ego. What anyone saw in that stupid, no-good, slow, ugly tomboy he'd never know!

Skin, pale and smooth stretching over fine bones and corded muscle, her long dark hair pooling around her head while she sleeps, her smile brightening the darkest corners of your heart– and they're pretty dark, pretty dusty– her eyes, those big, brown eyes that turn red in the afternoon light, when she sits out in her garden.

Ranma winced at his own thoughts, hitting himself in the forehead. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be the body part most affected.

The way she looks in those corseted monstrosities, her breasts pushed nearly up to her neck so you can see every soft, smooth curve of hers, and you know that all of it's real, remember that one time in the dojo when it was raining. . . that's not creative tailoring, remember how she looked in her shift, that thin white fabric stretched over. . .

A little pig wandered around the corner, and Ranma grinned maliciously, seeing the perfect outlet for his energies. When the pig saw him, it squealed and took a flying jump at his head. He caught it by the bandana and ignored it's angry squeaks.

"Now, now, Ryouga, there will be plenty of time to fight once we get you back into your real form." He muttered. That little twerp, sleeping in her bed as though it were a real pig, and not some sort of perverted loverboy. Honestly, the things these idiots did in pursuit of that brainless, sexless. . .

The only woman you've ever wanted to kiss. . . think of the look in her eyes when you comforted her about her father. That gratitude. That warmth. You were close enough so that you could feel her breath, hot wind on your face. You would have kissed her, you know you wanted to. . . but she thinks you're a girl. And if she thought you were a boy, she'd hate you. She does hate you, as a boy.

Muttering to himself and damning all the little insistant voices in his head, Ranma strode into his bedroom and picked up the kettle of water he always kept warm by the fire. He poured it over Ryouga's head, expecting the lost boy to yeep, maybe look around for some clothes.

He didn't expect a full on attack from a naked man.

That might be why Ryouga's first punch connected so soundly with his face.

Ranma rocked back, absorbing the blow, and rolled to his feet. As a girl, he was smaller and weaker, but faster. He could still take Ryouga, right?

"You animal! How dare you molest Akane-san in such a despicable way!" Ryouga cried. Ranma dodged his next attack, returning with a kick that Ryouga also dodged.

"Who the hell are you calling an animal, pork cutlet? You slept in her bed again! The only molester I see around here is YOU!" Ranma cried. Ryouga screamed as he lunged forward, and the fight began to get serious.

"How do you explain the underwear, then?" Ryouga snarled. Kick, punch, jab, block, leap, dodge, smack!

"You saw her underwear?" Ranma gasped, momentarily taken aback. Ryouga seized the opening and drove his fist halfway through Ranma's gut. Ranma doubled over, and Ryouga slammed the redhead in the back of the head, knocking her flat.

"How could I not, numbskull, she's been sitting around in it all day, just staring at the mirror and trying to take it off! And you're the only jackass I know that's twisted enough to write: "You'll marry me, willing or not" on some chick's panties!" Ryouga snapped. His diatribe was interupted when Ranma's foot hit his windpipe. Ranma did a backflip over Ryouga's prone form, glancing down as his fallen opponent on the way.

"You say she can't take it off?" Ranma asked. Ryouga choked in what may be called an eloquent fashion, and swept Ranma's legs out from under him. Ranma landed, hard, on his ass, and Ryouga leapt up and was bending down, reaching for the collar of his shirt to teach that blue-eyed sucker a lesson when. . .

The maid walked in.

She took one look at Ryouga's naked body and Ranma's shocked expression from about waist height, and turned to run. She made herself pause at the door to deliver her message. After all, if she didn't say what she came to say then that whole scarring image was in her brain without purpose.

"M. . .miss Akane says she n. . needs the Lady Ranma. Ssssssssounded urgent," she stammered. Then she slammed the door.

Ranma glanced up at Ryouga, and found that his rival was halfway to being catatonic, just staring into space as his face turned bright crimson red. He took the opportunity to pour cold water on him. Even as a pig, Ryouga just stood there, frozen. Ranma stood and straightened his clothes, frowning.

"I'll just bet it's urgent. Enchanted underwear. Pah. What's next?" he muttered, leaving the room. He shut the heavy door behind him, effectively trapping Ryouga in his room, and made his way down to the chambers of the Princess.

He opened her door, and damn near just slammed it shut again.

Ryouga wasn't kidding. She really was just sitting around in her underwear, a dazed, upset look on her face. Actually, she looked like she had been crying. But that wasn't what nearly made Ranma slam the door shut. This wasn't just any underwear she was wearing. This was not like a slip and some petticoats.

She might as well have been wearing nothing at all.

The only thing covering her breasts was a little lacy thing, it clung to her skin and he was almost, but not quite sure, that she was holding it up more than it was holding her up. But he could see her whole stomach! He could see every inch of that warm, smooth skin and the muscles sliding around underneath it.

"Ranma!" she cried, her voice full of tears. That was really all that stopped him. She seemed so upset, how could he turn away from that? So he stepped into her room and closed the door behind him. She got up and walked over to him, seemingly oblivious to his eyes bugging at the sight of her legs.

She wasn't wearing a skirt! She was just wearing these little things that looked kind of like skimpy, lacy shorts and they did indeed say what Ryouga said they said but how did Ryouga concentrate long enough to tell that. . . oh, hell, he could see everything, the lace wasn't solid cloth at all and he could tell that all the hair on her body was the same dark blue as her hair. . .

"Ranma, I can't get it off. You have to help me get this off or he'll come and claim me and I won't be able to fight him and this is will be the least of my troubles. . ."

Ranma didn't even hear what she was saying. He turned away rom her, pressing his forehead and palms against the door and closing his eyes. There were muscles tightening in his lower abdomen that he shouldn't even have, that had never happened before. . .

"Akane, put some clothes on, please. I'm begging you," Ranma pleaded, his voice tight and husky even in his own ears. She stamped her foot, he could feel the reverberations through the floor and it made his feet feel like they were on fire.

She was walking around like THAT, and HE was the manipulative one?

"I don't want to put clothes on, I want to take these off!" she wailed. She touched Ranma's shoulder tentatively, and he felt as though she'd set fire to him. He jerked away from her hand, only to find another on his back. She was standing behind him, all but naked, and she wanted what?

This had happened before, with women who wanted to trick him into marriage. But that had been before his curse. She was acting just like all those whores who couldn't see he didn't want them, didn't want to marry, didn't want to deal with girls and sure as hell wasn't interested in all that kissy crap they tried to pull. A guy could land himself a wife and kids that way.

So, before, finding himself in a room alone with a naked woman, he had fled. They all wanted something. Money. A better position. An easier life. What did this one want? He didn't know, and he couldn't think, but it wasn't what the others had wanted because she thought he was a girl. . .

"Akane, you need to put clothes on right now or you're going to hate me later. . ." he whispered. She removed her hands from him, and the silence stretched. What kind of girl lounges around all day like that?

"I'm sorry if this is hard for you, but we ARE both girls and it's not like you've never seen breasts before. I thought. . . I thought maybe where you're from you might have stuff like this, and you might know a trick to get it off. . ."

"You think I'm from a kingdom where they make outfits for whores?" Ranma shot back. It didn't come out the way he'd meant it. It was just, what kind of a girl wears things like that? It looked like it was more uncomfortable that anything, and she might as well be laying around naked for all it covered. But he never got a chance to explain himself.

Akane grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around, the force of her open palm against his cheek staggering him and driving his head the rest of the way around. . . until he was looking straight at her. She stood there with her hand raised, tears in her eyes.

"How dare you. . ." she began, but he never heard the rest. He was too busy staring. Staring at the sweet clean lines of her, curving down and around. . . he could see why sculptors so often made statues of women, there was a grace there, a softness under all that muscle. . . Ranma felt his hand rising to touch her skin, see if she were real. A red panic flooded his senses. He couldn't. . . wasn't. . . there was not a chance that he . . .

He did the only thing he was capable of.

He fled.

Akane stared at the open door for a long moment, before slowly shutting it. She could still hear Ranma's running footsteps . . or maybe it was just the pounding of her blood in her ears. She had thought, for a moment, that the little redhead was going to kiss her. To grab at her. And she hadn't been quite sure what she was going to do, if that happened.

Akane leaned against the door, feeling the blood drain from her cheeks as warm tears washed them. There was. . . no one left to help her. None of her maids had been able to get the damn things off, and she hadn't been able to cut them. Now, Ranma was gone, and had called her. . .

Perfect. The only person she'd even let come close enough to kiss her in years was a girl. Not just any girl. A girl who thought she was a whore.

There was only one cure for this. She had to find a protector. A male protector. A husband. Someone strong enough to defend his claim to her. After all, anyone would be better than that horrible old man, right?

Akane straightened, wiped her eyes, and got dressed. So much for independence, eh? So much for love. She should have just gotten married while she had lots of choices. She should have given those silly men calmoring for her more of a chance. Maybe she would have found someone to be happy with.

Maybe she should have run away, like her sisters.

That was all water under the bridge now, anyway. She didn't need that stuff to be happy, right? Her father had always said that a woman's true happiness comes from the lives of her children, not her own. She'd always hated him for saying it, but. . .

She had royally, completely, and irrevocably screwed her life up. Maybe it wasn't too late to run away?

It was. Shit.

"Eliza?" she called out. A young girl with scraggly dark hai poked her head around the corner of a wardrobe. Akane couldn;t blame the maid for hiding during Ranma's visit, Ranma can be damn scary when she wants to be.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Call my father's war council. I need to know who the strongest man in the known world is."

-----------------------

"Your Highness, surely a tourney of some kind would be advisable?" Rufus suggested, his thin, aristocratic eyebrows furrowed together. He was a neat man, always dressed immaculately and obssessively conservative in his motions. He looked comepletely out of place next to Argus, who was twice his height and smelled of blood, having been brought back in the middle of a hunting expedition.

"No, a tourney would draw the old man out, and then he would not only have a private claim to the kingship, but a public one as well. What I am asking is simple, gentlemen. I want to know which young man, from your memory, has been the most successful at tourneys thus far," Akane repeated herself, forcing her voice into calm, demure tones.

"That Kuno kid won several sword competitions last fall." This from Junus, who was simultaneously pulling at his long, grey beard and picking his yellowed teeth.

"What about the men who have been too busy leading troops to participate in tourneys? The last I saw of him, young Fanelia was a wonder on the battlefeild." Yinus, the youngest of the war cheifs, conciously mimicking his uncle, Junus.

"The draconian? I don't think so. Whatever happened to that young Saotome kid? I heard he was really tearing it up a few years ago, then he dropped off the face of the earth. Anyone heard from him?" Urus, her father's youngest brother, slouching in his chair and speaking around his pipe. Akane frowned at Urus, wishing she didn't have to include him in these meetings. If he;d just put the damn pipe out. . . and who cared about some kid no one had heard from in years?

"I think he's dead. Queen Saotome has been in a period of mourning for her son and husband for over a year now," Angus said gruffly. "But he would have been perfect, you're right. Hey, what was the name of that kid he was always fighting? The one that always came in second to him?"

"The kid with fangs!" Yinus shouted.

"Fangs? Was he a Hibiki?" Rufus asked, blinking at the roughnecks assembled around him. He was rewarded with a hearty–almost too hearty– slap on the back from Angus.

"Yeah! That's the one! He just got crowned King of the Gold Mines, didn't he? Old Reme Hibiki bit the dust about a year ago," Angus grinned. Rufus coughed delicately and shrugged hsi shoulder out from under the heavy weight of Angus' hand.

"He passed away, dear friend, he did not 'bite the dust,' as charming as that sounds. Quite wealthy, you know," Rufus replied, with a meaningful glance at Akane.

"Oh, yes, very wealthy. And a damn good fighter too, strong as an ox. I've seen the kid poke holes in the sides of fortesses with just one finger!" Junus announced. Akane almost whistled, but restrained herself. Ladies do not whistle. Ladies drop handkerchiefs. Whores whistle.

"My daughter says he's not too bad looking, either. He's the one you want, my lady," Junus continued, with a lascivious wink at Akane. She nodded grimly. If he could poke holes in stone walls, he was most definately the one she wanted.

"Make the announcement that I shall wed this Hibiki man as soon as. . . well, as soon as he gets here, I guess," Akane muttered. She looked around the table, a horrific idea occuring to her. "What if he doesn't want to marry me?"

They all looked at her for a second, then burst out laughing. Urus nearly choked on his pipe.

"Well, what if he doesn't! Some men don't you know," she said, crossly. Yinus held up a hand and tried to catch his breath,

"He. . He's only been moping around the castle for . . . what, two years now? I'm pretty sure he'll damn near die of a coronary when he hears," he chuckled. Akane sighed in relief.

"Well, let's hope he doesn't, hm?" she muttered. She rose and left the table, leaving the group to their laughter. She paused in the hallway. Did she want to go to her quarters. . . or the kitchen?

She remembered the look on Ranma's face as she fled. There had to be something she could do for her friend, something she could offer. . . and she couldn't offer what Ranma most obviously wanted so. . .the next best thing.

To the kitchens.

----------------------

You were going to kiss her, kiss her, kiss her, kiss her, you love her, love her, love her , love her, love her, love her. . .

Ranma stared in wide-eyed horror at the courtyard below him. He didn't. He wasn't. She couldn't. . . But all he could feel was the sting on his cheek, and all he could see was . . . her. . .

He'd seen naked women before, right? Even himself. . . when he was like this. But never before had he ever . . . known them, really. . . it wasn't just any girl, it was THAT girl, and now he'd seen almost all of her. . . and now he could never tell her about his curse, because she'd kill him for seeing it. . .

"Ranchan!" Ukyou again. Ranma groaned openly and looked down at the spatula weilder. She had her hair down, and was actually wearing a skirt. Not a dress, mind, but a skirt.

She was going to try and woo him again. Not now. . .

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice hoarse. She blinked at him, taken aback.

"Oh, I guess you already heard," she said, sounding dissapointed.

"Heard what?"

"About Akane's engagement. . ." Ukyou began, but her words ended in a shriek as Ranma landed about an inch away from her.

"What engagement?" he ground out, blue eyes narrowed to slits.

"She decided to marry Ryouga. She said I should help you. . . that I should. . . take care of you," Ukyou said, each syllable slower than the last as she felt Ranma's battle aura flare against her skin. "I . . . guess. . . she didn't tell you?"

"No. She did not," Ranma muttered, closing his eyes and forcing himself to calm down. She wasn't. She couldn't. There was no way she'd ever marry the pig. This was just another one of Ukyou's ploys. It had to be.

Akane said she didn't want to marry anyone!

She said it a thousand times! She always beat up all those guys!

And she let Ryouga sleep in her bed. . . and she let me sleep in her room and she let us both see her. . like that. . .

THERE IS NOOOO WAAAAAY SHE CHOSE THE PIG OVER ME!!!!!

Without opening his eyes, Ranma turned and ran away from Ukyou, ignoring her when she called after him. He ran across the courtyard, jumped over the garden wall, and ran all the way to the foot of Akane's wall. Then he started jumping.

He was going to find out from her own lips just what she thought of him.

--------------------

Akane closed her door behind her, leaning against the smooth, cool wood. She was going to be married soon, to a stranger. Not too soon, of course, state weddings take quite some time to plan.

And Ranma? Would she leave, when she found out? Or would she fall for Ukyou, the way she fell for Akane, and stay? Akane so wanted a friend. . .

"Ranma, Ranma," she muttered, closing her eyes.

"Yeah?" a hard voice asked. Akane opened her eyes and shrieked in surprise.

"Don't DO that! You scared me!" she panted, clutching at her chest. The redhead ignored her.

"Huh. Yeah. I scare you," Ranma muttered. Akane suddenly found herself staring straight into stormy eyes, just a few inches in front of her face. "It is true? Are you really going to marry Ryouga?"

"Y-yes, but it's more a matter of protection that anything else. . ." Akane began, but Ranma cut her off.

"I was protecting you! What can he do that I can't!"

"Marry me, for starters! I was trying to tell you before, but you jsut called me that name and ran away. . ."

"Tell me what!"

"About the old man that wanted me to marry him!"

"Oh, one more guy wants to marry you, and you run right into Ryouga's arms because of it. Thanks a lot, Akane, glad to know where I stand with you," Ranma spat.

"You're supposed to be my friend!"

"You turned down my friendship! You thought I wanted something else, and you wouldn't trust me! And now it's too late, it's too late. . ." Ranma broke off, and turned away.

"If you don't want me around, I'll go," she offered. Akane reached out and laid a hand on Ranma's shoulder.

"I DO want you around, Ranma. You're the . . . the only friend I've got," Akane whispered. Ranma felt tears burning in his eyes, and blinked them away.

"Thanks. . . but. . . there's something you don't know about me, and when I tell you, you're going to hate me. So . . . it's not much of a friendship, eh? If there has to be a secret between us. . ." Ranma rambled.

"Don't be silly. Tell me. Nothing could make me hate you, Ranma. I mean, what could be worse than liking girls?"

"You'd be surprised," Ranma said, taking a deep breath. "But even if I do tell you, you're still just going to marry this Ryouga guy anyway. . ."

"Would you get off that? It's not like I have a choice."

"Maybe you do. . ." Ranma whispered. He was getting up the courage to tell her. After all, Ranma Saotome doesn't run away from anything, right? He could do this, he would do this, he ahd to do this. . .

He never go the chance.

The door burst open, and the human whirlwind, known as Ryouga, crashed through it.

"THERE you are, Ranm. . . . A. . Akane-san," he muttered, losing his focus and twiddling his thumbs. Growling at the intrusion, Ranma strode over and hit Ryouga on the head as hard as he could.

"You stupid pig. . ." he grumbled, raising his hand for another strike. He was just about to connect, too. . . but Akane stepped between them.

"Ranma! What's gotten into you? You know better than to bully the weak!" she shouted, frowning at him. He felt all the strength go out of his arms. She . . defended Ryouga. . .

Ranma ran over to the window and jumped out, ignoring the voice calling after him for the second time that day. If that was the way she wanted it, he would just go home. If he was lucky, his mother would even kill him.

----------------

Ukyou plaited her hair back from her face, the image of Ranma's fleeing form stuck in her mind.

He didn't want her. This was stupid. This was ridiculous. She was wasting her time.

She would be foolish to stay in the Kuno court. Screw him and his damn poetry. Screw him and his crazy obssessions! She didn't need him, or Ranma, or any man.

She could pretend to be a man.

Ukyou hefted her bag over one shoulder, and her spatula over the other. Time to blow this popsicle stand, sucker.

-----------------

It was raining when the young heir to the Saotome throne reached his ancestral estate. Of course it was raining. It rained on Ranma the entire time he was traveling. He woke up in the rain. He slept in the rain. He hiked in the rain. He hunted in the rain.

He had tried, in some of his less lucid moments, to murder the rain.

He leapt right over the wall, too tired and sick and hungry to care about little proprieties like alerting the guards or telling his mother of his arrival. He headed straight for the kitchen. He was beginning to love kitchens. Kitchens are where food and hot water come from. Maybe he should sleep in a cot in the scullery.

He strode right past the startled maids that were preparing supper, jumped right over the head cook who was loudly demanding to know just who he thought he was, and upended a pot of soup over his head. He grinned at the startled looks from the assorted women in the room, and took the moment of startlement to help himself to some fresh bread.

Ahhhh . . . bread. . . .

"Prince Ranma!" the head cook stuttered. He flashed her a charming grin, and grabbed some more food. Ahhhh. . . . food. . . "We must tell your mother at once! She's been worried sick about you!"

"Yeah, I guess we should," Ranma muttered, doubtfully. The head cook grabbed his wrist, and he had just enough time to pick up a pudding for the journey before she had hauled him out of the kitchen altogether.

He was led through the familiar labyrinth of rooms and corridors, not that he was really paying attention. He was completely centered on the food in front of him. By the time he had reached his mother's sewing room, the pudding was entirely gone. The head cook turned to him, her eyes narrowed.

"You are going to be a perfect gentleman for once in your life and let that poor woman fuss over you as much as she wants, got it?" she demanded, in menacing tones. He barely had time to gulp and nod before she had opened the door. He could hear his mother's voice through the opening, but he couldn't see her around the body of the cook- -he was amazed the woman ever got through any doorways.

"My lady, I have good news."

"What is it, Jeanine? Is there more of that chocolate from Spain?"

"No, my lady. Nothing so trifling. Sit down, sit down, so you don't fall." and with that, the head cook stepped aside and shoved Ranma into the room.

He mother dropped her embroidery with a gasp, her hands flying to her face. She had aged a great deal since he'd last seen her. He realized, with a flash of guilt, that worry over him had caused the change.

"Mother . . " he started, and she dashed across the room, throwing herself at him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"You're real!" she gasped, and burst into tears. After a few moments, he let himself cry too.

And when she asked him what had taken so long, he told her. He told her everything. He told her about the merchants they'd met along the way, he told her about the curse, and he told her about Soun Tendo's illness. But most of all, he told her about Akane. And after his mother had seen with her own eyes that he was telling the truth about his curse, and cried over her son's ill fortune, she drew him aside and made him side next to her on the sedan.

"It's not manly to run away, Ranma," she said, sternly. He blushed and rubbed the back of his head.

"Well, it's not real manly to have menstrual cramps, either, so I guess you'll be wanting me to . . ."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'd never make you do such a thing, I . . ." Nodoka sighed, and closed her eyes in resignation. "Turthfully, I only made Genma sign that to keep him in line. Make sure he didn't bully you too much. I never intended you to. . . Besides, it isn't the physical attributes of a man that make you manly, my son. You can be manly even when you are in a woman's form. I'm sure, in your travels, you've met women who take the guise of men and behave like them."

Ukyou flashed into his mind, and he nodded.

"I'm just worried that you're going to be . . well, not very manly about this buisness with Akane. A real man never gives up," Nodoka admonished. Ranma winced and averted his eyes.

"But she's already chosen the man that she wants," he said. Nodoka waved his words away.

"Hogswash. You had a claim first," she said. Ranma blinked at her.

"I did?"

"Yes, you . . . well, her mother and I were very close friends. Before Kimiko died we used to travel and visit each other, and we always used to dream that you and Akane would get married some day so we'd have a better excuse for the journeys. But. . . well, that's not to be, rest her soul.

"I still remember, one of those visits, we were playing in the nursery upstairs with the two of you. She had older daughters, and they were running around and talking already, but you and Akane were still so small . . she could barely sit up, and you could barely crawl. But she was sitting next to me, and you crawled up to her, touching her head and her hands, sitting as close as you could with your clumsy little body. Then you looked up at me, your eyes so big and full of wonder. . . and you smiled, a knowing little smile. . ."

Nodoka smiled herself, and patted her son's hand. "You chose her when you were eight months old, Ranma. It just took you a few years to remember, is all," she announced. Ranma stared at her in shock.

"You're kidding," he muttered.

"Not at all. Actually, until the time of Kimiko's death, you two were as thick as honey. You would always follow each other around. . . and you were always trying to touch a part of her. Keep a hand on her shoulder or a foot on her ankle. It was kind of. . . weird, actually. A little too adult for such small children."

"Uh-huh," Ranma muttered. He thought about it for a moment.

"You think I should go back and win her over," he said, softly. "You think I should tell her everything."

"Of course I do, dear. And when you're married, bring her back here for a while. I've missed you," Nodoka smiled. Ranma smiled back, feeling as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders.

"Tommorow morning?" he asked. She sighed, but nodded.

"Yes, dear. But for now, let's talk some more. What other idiocies has my husband forced you to endure?"

------------------

Princess Akane and King Ryouga were, to all outward appearances, happy with their lot. They would often stroll around her garden for hours, in companionable silence. He wrote her love letter after love letter, and helped her send the rest of her suitors away. Her father even recovered from his mysterious illness.

It wasn't love, and the Princess did seem a bit sad, but what can one expect? At least the groom seemed to be in seventh heaven.

The little man in the purple gi, however, was quite far from seventh heaven when he heard the news. He was quite far indeed. So far, in fact, that he did not feel his wrath alone would be enough to completely decimate and humiliate the entire kingdom. So he called on his friend, the little old witch who never walked anymore, she just hopped on a cane.

"We have a wedding to crash."


	9. The Enchanted Hind

Disclaimer: I don't own Ranma, or any of these characters, or any of the characters, themes, motifs, or plots from the fairy tales I have pulverized.

Chapter Nine

Ukyou sighed, crouching by the small pile of wood she hoped to turn into a fire. She missed real kitchens. She missed real food. Most of all, she missed real human company. After three weeks of wandering around in the forests, she'd decided that the company of squirrels and rabbits was nothing compared to real human company. She'd picked up a few traveling companions along the way, people who would travel a little ways down a road with her. But it wasn't enough. She wanted to be home, with her friends and both of her parents, wanted her mother to be alive and her father sane. She would settle, however, for the court of the Kunos, and the scullery maids she'd befriended. Or even the Tendo court, with it's callous princess and Ranma. . .

If only that idiot had had the decency to marry her and be done with it, she wouldn't be sitting in a clump of clovers, trying to make a bunch of damp sticks catch the sparks from her flint. She cursed softly, and struck the flint against a stone with particular vehemence. A small spark caught on one of the leaves.

"Hurrah!" she cried, and the small flame blew out. She stared at it incredulously for a moment, the scowled and threw the flint down. "I give up, I give up, I GIVE UP!" she bellowed.

A twig snapped somewhere off to her left, and she turned, drawing a small spatula out of the bandolier strapped across her chest. A young woman with wide, frightened blue eyes stared back at her, hands up in a placating gesture. She was half-hidden behind a hickory tree, her hands clutching at the bark. Her clothing was in tatters, but Ukyou could tell that once it had been very fine. She looked half-starved, dark circles under her eyes and twigs in her hair.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, sir," she said, her voice sweet and simpering. Ukyou blinked.

"I'm not a sir," she said, still somewhat surprised, then she shook herself out of it. "Who are you? What are you doing out here, so deep in the forest?"

"I'm Flora, sir. I'm the waiting maid of my most beautiful and gracious lady, the most enlightened Princess Welcome. Pleased to meet your aquiantence, Mr. . . .?" Flora asked delicately, dipping down in a curtsey. Ukyou blinked at her for a long moment before answering.

"Ah . . . . Ukyou?" she said at last. Flora curtseyed again, a graceful gesture despite her current condition.

"I only heard you cursing in a most disagreeable way, dear sir, and I thought perhaps you might have some food to spare? Or, perhaps, might know the whereabouts of Prince Valiant?" Flora asked.

"Valiant? His actual name is Valiant?"

"Oh, indeed, dear sir. The most honorable and handsome Prince Valiant, the beloved of my most wonderful Princess Welcome," Flora nodded, tears springing to her eyes.

"Why, did you lose him?" Ukyou asked, putting her spatula back.

"Not really, dear sir, you see, my most beautiful and kind lady is staying in this forest, as am I, and he has shot her, wounding her just terribly, and I am afraid that she is frightfully hungry, as well as bleeding, which is quite un-lady-like. . ."

"Hurt? Why didn't you say so? Don't you have anything to use for bandages?" Ukyou asked, quickly picking up her flint and stuffing it into her bag. Flora shook her head rapidly, but held up her hands as Ukyou stood, holding her traveling pack.

"No, no we don't, but I don't know you, dear sir, and I am afraid of your intentions. . .' Flora protested. Ukyou sighed, and began unbuttoning her shirt.

"For starters, you're out in the middle of the woods with no food, no bandages, and, as far as I can see, no weapons. My intentions, you'll just have to trust, you don't have a choice. Secondly, I'm not a man," Ukyou stated, opening her shirt to reveal her bound breasts. Flora gasped and began fanning herself with her hand. She looked from Ukyou's chest to her face with a mixture of horror and awe.

"You're a woman!" she gasped. Ukyou nodded grimly, buttoning her shirt again. "But, but you were cursing!"

"Yes."

"And you look so MASCULINE!"

"Hey!"

"Your face is just so square!"

"HEY!"

"And you hold a weapon like a man! My stars!"

"I'm warning you. . . ."

-------------------------

Despite all of her misgivings, twilight found Ukyou standing in front of an old woodcutters cabin, ready to strangle the waiting-maid Flora. The cabin had obviously been deserted for many, many years, mold had grown over the logs of the walls and half of the roof was sagging down in a bowl shape. A few birds had noticed this perfect opportunity and had built a rather large nest in the depression.

"Tell me, before I decide to gut you, exactly why you're out in this forest?" Ukyou offered, absently twirling her giant spatula. Flora raised her thin, blonde eyebrows.

"Ladys do not make threats," she said, loftily. "What kind of woman are you?"

"I AM WARNING YOU, YOU OVERLY CULTURED LITTLE PUNK."

"All right, Ms. Man, all right. All will become clear when you see my most gracious lady." Flora informed her. Ukyou took a deep breath, letting the broad end of her spatula fall on the carpet of dead pine needles leading to the door of the cabin.

"Fine. Where is she?"

"Inside, of course, hiding from the light," Flora said. Ukyou sighed. That was the third time her cryptic little guide had mentioned "hiding from the light." If she wasn't afraid the other Princess would die without her help, she would have been gone long before then. Strapping her spatula onto her back, she stepped forward and through the ancient, creaking door of the cabin.

A white deer stared at her, it's deep green eyes the only spot of color it had, aside from the red blood dripping from it's hind leg. It stood on a packed dirt floor, in the middle of a small room, where the fireplace and a pile of pine boughs in the corner–for a bed– were the only decoration. Ukyou stared at the impossibly beautiful creature, not daring to move, lest she frighten it. Then, before her very eyes, the creature shimmered and became an equally beautiful woman, with skin as pale as birchwood, and moonbeam hair. She groaned, and fell, naked, to the ground, clutching at her hip.

"HOLY bleeding hell!" Ukyou gasped, falling back. Flora rushed forward, wrapping her shawl around the naked woman's shoulders, and glared at Ukyou.

"How dare you use such language in the presence of royalty!" she snapped.

"What do you mean, how dare I? How dare YOU bring me down here without telling me what she was? A freaking animagus! No wonder the Prince shot at her!" Ukyou snapped right back. The naked woman with the beautiful green eyes stared up at her in a kind of detatched horror. She completely ignored what Ukyou had said but turned to her maid, who was petting her hair soothingly.

"Darling Flora, have I sunk so low that you would permit a man to see me in my unclothed state? I swear to you, I am yet a virgin, I am not to play the whore," she said. Flora blushed and waved her arms frantically.

"No, my wonderous lady! This is Ukyou, a fellow woman, and she has coem to bind your wounds! She even said she has foodstuffs!" Flora whispered. The green-eyed woman looked at Ukyou in wonder.

"You are a woman?"

"Yes," Ukyou answered, through gritted teeth.

"But such foul language!"

"YES." Grinding teeth, now.

"And such a masculine appearance!"

"YESSSSSSSSSSSS." Practically a hiss instead of a word.

"I am sorry, kind woman, for such questions, but I am hurt and hungry, and bereft of hope," the naked woman said at last. The young cross-dresser blinked in confusion– that was it? No more questions? She favored Ukyou with a wry smile. "I would curtsey in greeting, but I have lost my clothing while the curse was upon me. Please, accept my apologies, and my most humble hospitality. I am afraid I have no refreshment to offer you, and only the one light," she said, nodding toward a lonely candle on the windowsill.

"Ah, don't worry about it," Ukyou mumbled, unaccustomed to such manners after Flora's open mockery. "Let's look at your wound, shall we?"

"Of course. You are most kind, dear woman. What is your name? I am the Princess Welcome," she smiled. Ukyou smiled back, reaching into her pack for her flask of alchohol and roll of bandages.

"Ukyou. Just plain Ukyou. Here, hold on to Flora's hand, this is going to hurt," she admonished, holding the flask over the wound. She poured the alchohol over the cut, pleased to note that it was just the wound from an arrow grazing her, and nothing more serious. She wrapped it in bandages, padding it so it would stop the bleeding. Then, she reached into her pack and pulled out a flat skillet, and some ingredients for okonomiyaki. Soon they had a fire going, and the food was cooking. Ukyou felt is was rude to ask about the curse, really it was, and she knew it, but. . . her curiosity was killing her, and finally she simply blurted out:

"Why do you turn into a white deer?"

"I had wondered when you would ask," replied the still-nude Princess. "It is a long story, and begins before my birth.

"My mother was once crying by a fountain, wishing for a child. A crawfish rose on the water and offered to take her to the palace of the fairies, her sisters, whom she assured my mother could give her a child. My mother went, and found six fairies: Rose, Tulip, Anemone, Hyacinth, Pink, and Auricula. They told my mother of my immenent birth, and that she must give me the name "Welcome." My mother agreed, and when I was born, she invited all of the fairies to my christening.

"They each gave me a gift, the sort of gift only a fairy can give. One gave me a good, even temper, which has come in handy. I also received cleverness, beauty, good fortune, good health, and a general aptitude for needlework."

"Hold on," Ukyou interrupted. "The crawfish's sister gave you an aptitude for needlework?"

"Most certainly," Welcome replied, unflustered. "And it was to come in quite handy, as well, though not as handy as the even temper. I am wonderful at embroidery. In any case, as soon as they had given me these gifts, the craw-fish came in, and was rather upset at being forgotten in all of the hullaballoo. She would not be placated, but said that if I saw the light of day before my fifteenth birthday, I would suffer greatly. Therefore, my parents put me deep underground– and there I have stayed, until jest these last few days.

"Unfortunately, my mother's vanity won out as it began to be apparent that I was going to be rather pretty. She had a portrait painted of me and sent out. Now, most of the men in this area are all in a fuss about some Akane girl – don't know what's so wonderful about her, she's got the most atrociously ordinary eyes– but my Prince Valiant wasn't, and he fell in love with my picture. It was arranged we should be married, he sent over his own portrait, and all was well, except that I was not quite fifteen. He didn't believe that my parents were really going to give me to him, as they wanted to delay until my birthday, and the silly man fell ill.

"So, his father begged my father to send me over early, and that fool –pardon me saying so– gave in. They made a carriage so tight and dark that no light could enter. However, I had a treacherous waiting maid who wanted me out of the way for some reason, perhaps she wanted my Valiant. She cut the side of the carriage, and I saw daylight. I turned into a deer and ran off. Flora, my dear, loyal Flora, followed me.

"So we have been living here, quite without food or succor, and I find that my Prince has come out here to hunt. And a fine hunter he is, too, he even managed to hit me."

"You poor, poor woman," Ukyou sighed, shaking her head. "It must have been terrible for you, living in this hut with the chatterbox," she gestured toward Flora, who sniffed indignantly. The okonomiyaki were ready, so she shoved them toward the Princess and her maid.

"Oh, well, it's much better now that you're here," The Princess said, kindly. "And I don't mind Flora's chattering, it's very cheery. Besides, I'm a beast by day, and I only properly understand my predicament at night. So," she shrugged, finding a way somehow to make it graceful. "It's not so bad."

"Wow, you're patient," Ukyou observed. "Still, I can't help but think that there's some way out. Maybe if the Prince knew. . . ."

"Come out of the hut, we've got it surrounded!" a male voice ordered. The three women looked at each other blankly before, as one, they realized it was coming from outside. Flora began to rise to her feet, but Ukyou waved her back down.

"No, no, this is my forte. I'm the fighting kind," she insisted, taking her spatula from her back and twirling it. She strode toward the door and stepped out, eyes shifting from side to side.

::Two men on the corners of the house, maybe more in back. Four men, all armed, all on horseback, right up front. None of them have crossbows. That's good.:: Ukyou thought.

"You are not the Princess, or her maid," the lead man said, his eyes narrowing. He was shockingly handsome, with graggy, imposing features and steely grey eyes. The truly striking thing about him, however, was his hair. It was the color of autumn, reds and browns and yellows shimmering down his back. Of course, with hair like that, he wore it long. Who wouldn't? Ukyou was debating on whether she should fight this guy or throw herself at his feet and hope he'd have mercy (mercy. . . that's what they call it nowadays) on her when he completely ruined the effect.

"Please," he said, his voice cracking and his face crumpling into the sob that came out of his mouth. "Please tell me where she is! I am sick for love! Love plagues me, day and night, so that I cannot eat, cannot sleep, cannot breathe knowing she is so near and yet beyond me. . ."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Ukyou said, taking a step backward, away from the verbal barrage. "If you promise to never do that again, I'll get her."

"Truly!?" he gasped, the sobbing-face gone, replaced by an expression of adoration and delight. "Would you truly do such a thing for one as miserable as I?

"Ummmm yes?" Ukyou tried, frowning. "Just give me a long tunic or a cloak or something, she's in need of, umm . . . ."

"Fine raiments?" the man suggested.

"Suuuuuuuure." Ukyou sighed. She took the tunic he threw at her and went back into the hut. She was greeted with shining eyes by Welcome, who took the tunic from her hastily, sliding it over her head.

"My Prince! My beloved has come for me at last! No more will I have to endure, or starve!" she cried, happily, running out the door. Ukyou watched as she ran toward his horse, and he swung down to catch her in his arms. The moon, full and just rising, provided barely enough light to see the lovers embrace, to reveal to each of them the true face of the other. They kissed, and the onlookers were glad of the darkness to hide their blushes.

Unfortunately, even in the dark, they could hear just fine.

"My love, it has been so long since I gazed at thine image, oh, it nearly drove me mad to think I would never see you!"

"Dearest darling of all sweethearts, you've no idea what I have gone through, starved, deprived of the sight of you, deprived of the very thought of you by my curse. . ."

"It is of no matter now, sweetling, let me carry you home so we may be wed at once! My god, your eyes, they gleam like emeralds!"

"And yours are the color of the candle's shadow! Oh, my love, if only I had more poerty to give you, I was raised in shadows and know only the colors of paintings."

"Your lips are the only poetry I shall ever need. . ."

"I'm gonna throw up," Ukyou grumbled. Flora walked up to stand with her in the doorway, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Don't, it would be grotesque. I wonder how he knew she was here?" she mused. A barking laugh off to their right made both girls turn. The laugher was a young man with sandy hair and a round, jovial face. He swung down off his horse and moved to stand next to the girls.

"That was my doing, actually. I recognized you, Flora, from Welcome's court. I knew you'd be wherever she was," he explained. Flora squinted at him.

"And you are . . . ?" sh asked. He grinned and clutched at his chest as if wounded.

"You don't remember? I'm the man who loves you, my dear," he said, with a mischevious wink. "Becafica, valet to the Prince himself."

"Oh," Flora said, faintly.

"Don't worry, my dear, I was joking, only joking. It's just that I never forget a face," he said, with a meaningful glance at Ukyou. "And I never forget a name."

"Flora! Oh, Flora! Fetch out the ring you were clever enough to bring from the carriage, my Prince does not believe I kept it!" Welcome called. Rolling her eyes, Flora went back into the cabin. As soon as she had stepped away, Becafica leaned in close to Ukyou's ear.

"I suppose you'll be wanting a place to hide, Princess Kuonji?" he asked. Ukyou jumped back, her eyes going wide as saucers. He smirked at her, leaning back against the wall. "Don't worry, my pretty little exile, we'll find a place for you. We'll discuss it later.


	10. Desolation

Disclaimer: Not mine, either the fairy tales or the characters. 

Chapter 10

Desolation would just about cover it.

Ukyou watched the Princess Welcome dance with Prince Valiant, and felt her intestines turn to stone. They were so happy. So deliriously, ridiculously happy. Like her mother, and her father. Maybe one day one of them would go mad and grow some incestuous desires—like horns sticking out of their heads.

And maybe that one would be sorry when they sent their child away, and maybe the child could be called home safely, and maybe. . . maybe, maybe, maybe. . . they could be happy like that again.

Was it that simple? Welcome and Valiant had loved each other based on a mutual appraisal of the other's portraits. They had spoken no word to each other until they met, but long before that they were both willing to risk enchantment or death just to see each other. And there they were, delirious, drunk with love, dancing to a tune that faded hours ago, staring at each other without speaking.

She wondered, briefly, if she were going to be sick. No, her stomach wasn't heaving, it was simply retreating into the crevices of her spine.

Maybe, if she had the kind of flawless, pale perfect beauty Welcome possessed, such a miracle could happen to her, too. She knew for damn sure that it wasn't any particular virtue on the part of the girl that led her to be so loved, both by her parents and by Valiant.

Like Akane. Some people are just fated to be loved. Adored, admired, sought after, and imprisoned. And some people are fated to wander the earth alone, forgotten by the very people who were supposed to love them above all others.

Desolation, she reflected, would indeed just about cover it.

She stirred unsteadily, rising to her feet in pursuit of some more spirits to dull her own. She'd taken no more than three shaking steps before she ran into Becafica. Literally. He was carrying a drink in his hands, and he spilled it over the both of them.

"_Merde_," he swore, in a conversational sort of way. Instead of cursing further or blotting at the liquid soaking into his shirt, he drew Ukyou into a close embrace.

"_Mon enfant, mon petite sange,"_ he whispered, as Ukyou tried to push him off. Her arms felt heavy, sluggish with wine and fatigue.

"What sort of monkey garble are you spouting?" she hissed, breaking free at last. He took a closer look at her, then reared back, blinking furiously.

"Sorry," he grunted. "Thought you were someone else."

"I gathered," Ukyou replied, summoning as much dignity as she could, under the circumstances. "You shouldn't drink so much, it's making you speak in tongues."

"It's not a tongue, it's a language with a lot of tongues, is what it is, but I suppose being of a barbaric state like Kuonji, you'd not have heard it? Pity, pity, miss all the best poems, especially about that cheeky little Bellissima. . ." Becafica rambled.

"Jackass," Ukyou muttered, and made to move past him. He grabbed her arm, and she shook him off, but all he needed was another few seconds to make his point.

"News of your father," he said, almost jeering. She stopped, in every part of her. Her heart, her breath, her very soul. Maybe her father was dead. She felt like falling down and letting her own heart rupture, killing her, at the mere prospect. On the other hand, she probably couldn't go home until he was. On yet another hand: What is home without family?

His point, obviously, was that she needed him. The bastard.

"What news?" she asked.

"He is ailing. And mad, still. He is looking for you, my lady—but he thinks you are an escaped bride. He has forgotten completely that he has a daughter." The blood must have drained from her face, because he grinned maliciously. "_Oui_, _mademoiselle_—that's a bitch. To be forgotten. Shunned." He gestured toward the dancing couple, and threw himself on the floor in a miserable drunken stupor.

Ukyou narrowed her eyes at the young servant Becafica. There was something . . . broken about him. Something crushed. Something. . . that spoke of a shattered heart, and a shattered hope.

"What was it you said to me, in your damn fool language?" she asked, bending closer. For a moment, she thought he did not see her; his eyes were glassy and his breath dangerously shallow. But then he spoke, the words a whisper so low she almost didn't hear him. He spoke like a dying man, a man whose blood is lying in a puddle at his own feet.

"My child, my little monkey. I used to call him that." There was a pause, as his tongue flicked out to moisten his cracked lips. "But he chose her. He chose a stranger over me. He chose. . . a strange woman over me."

Ukyou opened her mouth to reply, but bit back her cruel retort. No matter how he had hurt her. . . he was suffering enough. Besides, the cruel retort that instantly sprang to her mind included the resemblance between his ears and cauliflower, so she thought it best she keep such things to herself.

She left the dying man to sit in the fumes of his drink, and went off in search of her own.

-

Amazingly enough, life seems to continue no matter what we do to stop it. Despite the wedding preparations at the Tendo castle, maids continued to scald themselves, guardsmen found themselves cursing at the complicated undergarments of laundresses behind pillars, and little pageboys continued to get into manure fights down by the stables.

The world continued. Excepting, of course, the world as seen by the bride. She was morose, withdrawn, a mere shadow of the gaily laughing girl from years past. And yet, no one noticed. The Princess began to have dreams that she was bleeding to death and no one noticed. She woke from them in a cold sweat, feeling the pain of the wounds. Once, she even lifted a small jeweled dagger she possessed—a gift from Ryouga—and considered testing the idea. Seeing if anyone would, indeed, notice if she were to wander around with a mortal wound.

However, she quickly came to realize that the maids troubled themselves with the times of her bowel movements, and it was unlikely to go unnoticed if she added a gaping hole.

She told herself it was natural for brides to get cold feet, and tried to go about her business. The fact remained, however, that she wasn't going to get the long, beautiful, devastating relationship her mother had with her father. And she wasn't going to get the kind of passionate love her oldest sister had found when she ran off with the miracle man. She was going to get. . . Ryouga. And she could only hope, realistically, that either he didn't mind being a cuckhold and she found a more. . . . focused lover, or he died early.

Both propositions sickened her. She vowed, quietly, in the dead of night, that she would never make Ryouga a cuckhold. And she vowed, furthermore, to refrain from beating him up—unless provoked.

She felt that was all she could do. She was getting married for protection, not love, and she could expect no better.

While she made this vow, and stared into her fire—warm and discontent—Ranma was snoring under the stars, resting from a day of running over hills and mountains. He was trying with all his might to reach her before her wedding. It did not, however, look as though he would make it.


	11. Ranma Proposes!

Disclaimer: I don't own much of anything, except my soul and a few boxes of cereal.

A dead-eyed bride stared out of a heavy gilt frame on her wall. A woman who was marrying to be safe, a woman who was marrying because she wasn't strong enough to protect herself when the time came. A woman who, when the last card fell, was really not a martial artist at all. Not a soldier. Not a warrior.

Just a little girl in a wedding gown, about to pledge lifelong obedience to a man she barely knew, all because she wasn't strong enough to kick the furry asses of a few giant monsters. All because a crazy old man and his magic, scanty undergarments were making it damn hard to go to the bathroom.

To her great discomfort, she now knew just what it was like to wear a chastity belt. Now that she knew, she was rather surprised that they were so popular. There's nothing hygienic about a band of material that. . . . well.

Akane Tendo, the desire of a thousand hearts, the prize of the century, the only woman appearing in more poetry than the Madonna, was drunk. Stark, raving drunk. And no one really faulted her for it, in fact, the servants had been exacerbating the situation.

The drinking began the night before, when she'd ordered her maidservants to bring her a cask of wine. They brought her the Rhenish, the strongest red poison they could find, and didn't dilute it. She had asked for another before finally collapsing on her bed, a glass in one hand and the half-finished cask on the floor next to her. She finished that wine with breakfast, which consisted of some of the sour beer the guardsmen favored and a few delicate sips of white wine, which went very well with the food she refused to eat.

She had been refusing food for three days, and instead of looking like a radiant bride, she looked like death warmed over. The bones in her shoulders stuck out through the rich white silk of her gown. That magnificent gown.

They might as well have been sewing her in her shroud, for all the gaiety that surrounded her adornment. She was silent, staring at the mirror in its heavy gilt frame. Silent as they wove flowers into her long, dark hair. Silent as they fitted her into her corset and her layers of skirts, silent as they fussed over her veil and earbobs.

She looked into the mirror, and saw the one type of woman she had always despised, the one sort of woman she had never been able to respect, regardless of how favorably society viewed them.

Weak. She had become weak. Too weak to stop the monsters from getting her. Too weak to slice the offensive undergarments away and take away the skin under them. Too weak to defy her fates and take her chances with the old man, living and maybe dying by the warriors code she had entrenched herself in.

And now, besotted with drink, wasted away with sleepless nights and red-eyed from crying, she saw in her reflection nothing like strength. Nothing like pride. Nothing like honor.

Nothing, period.

The maidservants left her to her silent staring, and she waited for the bells to ring and signal her that her plan for life had failed.

"Akane, am I too late?" came a soft voice behind her. She ignored it at first, only dimly registering that there was someone in the room with her. But then, a red-haired girl walked up behind her in the mirror, travel-stained, weary-eyed.

"How did you. . ." she began, but the words turned to dust in her mouth.

"The balcony," Ranma replied, jerking her head toward the open terrace. Akane turned to look at her, raised a hand to touch her and see if she were real, or a drunken delusion.

Her hand fell short, but another hand, just as calloused as her own, took it and squeezed it, a sensory anchor in a spinning world.

"Go home, Ranma," she whispered, trying to take back her hand. It was released immediately, and the girl who had been holding it jerked as if punched. She hated the hurt look in those blue eyes. But she hated, even more, the way that Ranma looked at her. As though she were something she now knew she wasn't.

"I came back for you, to stop you from marrying Ryouga," Ranma said, slowly, evenly. Because Ranma could force herself to speak slowly, evenly, could force herself to stay strong and aloof, could leap up balconies and . . . and. . . she would never lose herself in drink and despair, she'd fight it, because that was the way Ranma was. . .

Akane turned away, unable to watch her reflection in those blue eyes. Unfortunately, she turned too fast, and found herself rushing to greet the floor with her nose.

But she didn't.

A pair of hands caught her around the waist, slowly drew her back into a protective embrace.

"You're drunk," Ranma whispered, her voice soft with wonder. Akane jerked away from her, falling to her knees as her balance failed her. She punched Ranma's arm when the redhead reached down to help her, and sat there, wheezing, on the floor, with her silken skirts pooled around her.

"And if I am?" she asked, glowering. "It's no concern of yours."

"You don't want to marry Ryouga."

"Of course not. I don't want to marry anyone."

"And you don't love Ryouga."

"Of course I don't," she snapped, then her eyes grew wide and she looked down, studying her hands splayed across the folds of her wedding dress. "That's what makes this so horrible. I'm not marrying him for love, I'm using him. I'm marrying him because I can't take care of myself. Because I'm . . . I'm weak, Ranma." She looked up, anger the only emotion left in her gaze. "So get the hell out."

"That's the booze talking," Ranma grunted, sitting down next to her. Akane snarled and moved as if to punch Ranma, but the shot went about a foot wide and she pretended it hadn't happened.

There was apparently a reason martial artists shouldn't drink.

"Like hell it is."

"I've never heard you curse this much before."

"Shut up! This is hard enough for me without seeing you all. . .strong and stuff and leaping up balconies and you know how obnoxious it is to be so much better than everybody else? I bet that you. . . ."

"Akane," Ranma smirked, the very calmness of her voice stopping Akane mid-rant. "You don't love Ryouga."

"We covered this already, yes?" she growled. "And don't start with me about the whole girl-on-girl thing, because, all personal tastes aside, I can't marry a girl. . . ."

"Akane."

". . . legally, it just doesn't. . . ."

"AKANE," she said again, louder. The bride blinked a few times, but fell silent—just long enough to hear the church bells ringing. The gilt frame of her mirror vibrated with the tune of the bell tower, and the little trinkets she kept on her desk trembled at the thought of losing her. And in the middle of it all, sat Ranma, a determined little smirk on her lips.

"I don't have time for this," Akane muttered, rising unsteadily to her feet. Ranma stayed where she was.

"Akane, what if you could marry someone you love, and be safe at the same time?" she asked, keeping her hands clasped so Akane wouldn't know how much they trembled.

"I'm not in love with anyone," Akane muttered, adjusting her skirts—the problem with formal dresses is they aren't really designed to be flopped around in.

"But you do love me, right?" Ranma asked. When Akane gave her a sharp look, she shook her head violently and rushed on. "I mean, as a friend at least, right? You're fond of me. More than Ryouga?"

"I suppose, but I really don't see what that has to do with. . ."

"Akane, I have something to show you, and I want you to stay right here," Ranma admonished, leaping to her feet and dashing out of the room. She returned a spilt second later with a steaming teapot.

"You'll want to sit down for this," Ranma advised. Glaring openly now, Akane made to push past the smaller girl, who was between herself and the door.

"Honestly, Ranma! I don't have time for games! What did you come back for, anyway, to stall my wedding until I've got gray hair?" she snapped. Ranma stepped in front of her neatly, holding the pot of hot tea right over her head.

"I'm telling you, you really want to sit down for this," Ranma repeated.

"And I'M telling YOU, you'd better get out of my way before I . . . ." Akane's voice trailed off as Ranma upended the teapot on her head, and the scent of chamomile and lavender rushed around the room, in little steamy clouds.

A man, a black-haired man, stood where Ranma used to be.

The man from her garden, who had protected her from Kuno.

The man from the ball, who had carried her up to her room, away from tiresome suitors.

Was Ranma? But. . . was she a . . . or was it a he that. . ..

The black-haired man grabbed her hands, his were big and rough, calloused, she tried to pull away but he held her until she met his eyes, those same blue eyes and she was falling, falling into an ocean of doubts but he caught her, safe and snug against his chest. . . she pushed him away, and cursed as she nearly stumbled, only to have him catch her.

"Let go of me. Who in the hell are you, anyway?" she cried, blinking furiously to make the world spin a little slower. It wasn't working.

"I'm Ranma Saotome, just like before. . . except this was the body I was born with. The other has to do with this curse. . . look, it's not important. What is important is you need a strong guy around, and I'm pretty handy for that. Akane. . . please stop staring at me like that, it's. . . . neither of us ever wanted to be married, right? At least, if we marry each other, it will be more of a mild torture than the screaming hell I was expecting. And life with Ryouga wouldn't be too great, if you know what I mean."

Akane did what anyone would have done in that situation.

She fainted.

As oblivion rushed up to meet her, she heard Ranma's voice fading into the background, and a new voice, uttering the most curious phrase she'd ever heard. . .

"Where in the jujubes am I now. . . . Ranma!"

Ukyou took great satisfaction in noting the sour faces of her fellow partiers the following morning. She was lucky, she had wonderful genes—and a lot of practice. Her father had believed in weaning babes on sour beer, and so that was how she'd been raised. Her father's court was full of drunks every night, full of hangovers every morning. Everyone, except her father, would beg to be allowed a few hours to sleep it off, if he would just forget about holding court until around noon. . . but nothing later than sunrise would satisfy her father, and so she learned to drink hard and rise early at a rather tender age.

The one sour face she saw that wasn't nearly sour enough for her belonged to Becafica. He was calmly eating breakfast in the Great Hall—patiently ignoring the people snoring on the floor around him—with nothing to show for his debauchery aside from a red rim around his eyes.

Those eyes captured hers, and he beckoned her over. She acquiesced, glowering as she lowered herself onto a bench across from him.

"I understand I said some cruel things last night," he said, carefully, studying the apparently fascinating curvature of his knife.

"Yes," she said, as shortly as possible. She intended to swipe some food from the kitchen and leave, wander into the sunset. Or sunrise. Or just off into the trees somewhere no one would harass her, that would be nice too.

"I'm sorry for that," he apologized, meeting her gaze shyly.

"Why are you talking to me?" she asked, flatly, not in a mood to waste her time. He sighed, and put the knife down. She resisted the urge to pick it up and give it back to him through the route of his lower abdomen.

"I wanted to apologize, and offer you a deal."

"A deal?"


	12. Yellow Dwarf, 3

"I wish that I could be the man you need. . ."

All right, small note here, Akane won't accept Ranma's proposal. If someone proposed to you using the words, "more like a mild torture" in reference to spending their life with you, what would you do? Me, I'd take out his kidneys, but I'm an extremist. They have a long way to go before they can be together, so . . . I'm kind of sorry about that, I like reading fics where they get together and that anticipation is satisfied sooner rather than later. But, in this case, it won't happen—I'm having a lot of fun with this one, and I'm going to drag it out.

Thank you all for reading this, double thanks to everyone who reviewed.

Moving on, I don't own Ranma ½ or any of the fairy tales I've dropped them into—Furrypelts, Cinderella & Briar Rose (kind of), The Enchanted Hind, or The Yellow Dwarf. More fairy tales will come, and I won't have the rights to those either.

Akane woke groggily to some sharp, pungent scent, and the sound of babble above her.

"Good, the smelling salts are working—she's coming out of it. Who's the guy, anyway?"

"His name's Ranma. Feel free to toss him in the dungeon."

"Ryouga! How could you say such a thing, I'm sure he hasn't done anything that would warrant that!"

"He was in her room, isn't that enough?"

"So, my young man, were you. Have you forgotten that it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?"

"I. . . . uh. . .. no, I kind of got. . . lost."

"Riiiiiiiight. Come on, young man, leave the bride to her father. Let's get you down to the altar before you wander off to China, eh?"

"Sounds. . . good."

There was a sound of the door opening and closing, and someone touched her face, lightly. The pungent scent was brought under her nose again, and she opened her eyes, coughing. Her father's face was swimming in front of her, tear-streaked.

"Come on, sweetie, we've got to get you down to the altar," he said, almost calmly. She supposed the crying portion of the day's events had ended, and accepted his hand to help her to her feet. Once the world had stopped swirling around her, she looked down at herself. A bit frumpled and wrinkled, maybe, but not bleeding anywhere. She couldn't even see any bruises.

"What. . . happened?" she asked, somewhat dazed. In the back of her head something was tugging at her, something was wrong. . . but she couldn't think what. . .

"I don't really know," he said, and he continued, but it was all buzzing in her head and there was such a lot of buzzing in her head had she been drunk where was everyone oh it was her wedding day and her WEDDING DAY to Ryouga that was why she was drinking and where was Ranma there was something with Ranma. . . .

Thus, dazed and confused, the most desired woman in the world was led through the magnificent corridors of her father's palace, down to the giant chapel where she was to wed the magnanimous King of the Gold Mines, a handsome, strong young man intensely in love with her.

It was more than anyone should hope.

Ryouga was sparing no expense for the ceremony—everyone who approached him or one of his attendants came away loaded down with presents. Handfuls of gold coins were passed out to anyone and everyone who wished for some, and there was no shortage of fine wine and fine food to be had for the asking.

If Nabiki were there, she would have died in convulsions a long time before they ever got to the vows.

Amid fanfare and cheers, the Princess Akane was led to the altar, where a beaming man awaited her. He looked so very happy. Neither he nor anyone else seemed inclined to notice the circles under her eyes, or how wobbly her smile was.

They had insisted she go without a veil. Heaven help her, there was no hiding. She was exposed, on a pedestal for everyone to see, for everyone to judge, to praise or hate without ever having said a word to her. She felt her stomach doing flips. . . and then she was standing in front of Ryouga.

Gods, he looked so damn happy. She could almost feel the love pouring out of his eyes. Maybe. . . maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

But what in heaven's name was that tugging at the back of her mind. . . the priest began to speak, she was helped to her knees, given communion as if she needed more wine and. . . what in heaven's name was wrong with her? Why did she want to bolt? What was. . . what had happened. . .

"I object!" someone screamed behind her. There was a loud crash, as if someone wearing a lot of metal had just hit the ground hard. She turned to see a man, worn around the edges and stained as if from travel, standing on top of one of her guards. He was rushed by several more armed men, but in a flash they were all behind him, under him, groaning, defeated. He was in front of her, fast as light on water, his eyes glowering a challenge to Ryouga.

There was something terribly familiar about those eyes.

"Get lost, Ranma! She's mine, now!" Ryouga called out, his tone smug, confident in his ownership. She was pulled under his arm, protectively. She didn't much care, she was too busy staring at the stranger, with his black braid and his startling blue eyes.

That was it!

That was what had been bothering her!

Ranma was a GUY! And, worse, he'd proposed! Making him just one more looney after her, except he'd hidden under the guise of friendship. . . that DIRTY bastard PERVERT!

"Just who are you, young ruffian?" the priest asked—good thing he did, too, because he was the only one with the guts. No one was going to call out the guy who'd just taken down four armed, armored guards.

He flipped his braid back over his shoulder, arrogance in his stance. With a hand on his hip, dirty and bruised, he looked ready to beat down the vision in golden armor standing at the altar. . . next to the woman he wanted.

Akane seethed, balling up her fists. They were going to fight over her! As if she were a prize, to be won! Not if she had anything to say about it. . . . no way in hell.

"I'm Ranma Saotome, heir to the kingdom and Saotome fighting school. I challenge you, Ryouga. A battle to the death, winner takes Akane," he said, narrowing his eyes. Ryouga smirked, stepped forward.

"You will fight ME, Ranma Saotome," came the reply. But not from Ryouga's mouth.

Akane's dress was white silk, embroidered with diamonds. It sounds simple, but it isn't. She sparkled like the sun, every movement caught in one of the thousands of faceted diamonds sewn onto her person. Her slippers were covered in them, she wore a wreath of diamonds and flowers in her hair. Of course, it was only fitting—her bridegroom was dressed in golden armor, pure, solid gold. It was a show of strength and wealth—he could walk in it, and he could afford it. The metal was shaped to show dragons and lions fighting on the breastplate, exquisite work. So, how could she not show her wealth as well, and sparkle like the sun?

Standing in that ridiculous dress, it was she who challenged Ranma Saotome to a fight.

"We have a fight unfinished, Ranma. Remember, the day in the rain?" she said, stepping in front of Ryouga. He tried to pull her back behind him, but she slapped his hand. "You will not fight him until you've finished with me," she ground out. Ranma began to laugh.

If her blood wasn't boiling before. . .

"I'm not going to fight you, Akane, we both know how that would end. Besides, you can't fight in a corset, and you know it," he sneered. Then, she did the truly unthinkable.

She ripped her beautiful, sparkling dress, right down the middle. It fell to her feet in a crumpled, sad heap of ruined splendor. She pulled a small knife from a sheath strapped just above her shoe, and cut the laces of her corset in one quick rush. It fell to the ground on top of her dress.

The crowd, literally, went wild.

Ladies fainted, men drooled, and old women, who have surely seen worse, gasped in shock. Ranma, for his part, merely had to scrape his jaw off the marble floor.

"Fight me like this, then," she called, stepping out of her garments. Ryouga rushed to stand in front of her, spreading his arms out protectively.

"I won't let you fight her, Ranma," he said, firmly. Akane, growling, grabbed the communion cup from the startled priest and hit him over the head with it.

The blow didn't faze him.

Unfortunately, some of the wine sloshed out onto his unprotected head, and that fazed him plenty. The armor clattered to the floor, suddenly and mysteriously empty. Akane stared at the goblet, then at the empty armor, and dropped it, backing away, slowly. She just had time to make the sign of the cross before something truly wicked entered the church.

The high, wide doors at the back of the hall blew open, knocking several wedding guests out of the way as they did so. A giant cat, and a giant duck, pulling a strange little carriage, came growling into the church. They dragged their strange little carriage halfway up the middle aisle, then stopped.

"Akane, run! Hide!" Ranma screamed, running towards her. She punched him in the face as soon as he got within range, choosing anger over shock.

"You stay away from me! You just want to marry me, you little pervert!" she screamed.

"And why don't you go with him, then, you faithless woman!" cried a voice from the strange carriage. A little old woman, wizened and ugly as a five-year-old apple, hopped out of the carriage on a knobbly stick. She pointed a twisted finger at Akane, accusingly.

"You stand here, all but naked, trying to decide between two men when you're promised to a third! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, treating my friend this way! Harlot! Wench!" she cried. Ranma, a black bruise forming over his eye, stared at Akane in shock.

"You promised yourself to someone?" he asked, his voice a small, timid creature. The yellow dwarf himself, an old man twice as shrunken and ugly as the old woman, chose that moment to vault out of the carriage. He was crying, flailing his little stubby arms and legs.

"I WANT what's coming to me! She promised, she promised, she promised! Look at her panties, they were a gift to celebrate and I. . . worked . . . so. . . . HARD on them!" he wailed. Akane crossed her arms over her chest protectively. Ranma looked at her in shock for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it.

"Look, pal, I've seen her trying to get the stuff off, I don't really think she wants to go with you," he said, nonchalantly. The little old man stopped his tantrum just long enough to glare maliciously at Ranma.

At this point, any wedding guests who had not fled or fainted from shock—and they were few—were beginning to ask questions in the background. Questions like:

"What underwear?"

"Who are the ugly little people? Did I miss something?"

"Whoa, did I hear the old man say he put that stuff on her? Like, he saw her. . . NAKED? She let that old man see her boobs, but I got punched for asking! Now who's the pervert?"

"Is she sleeping with the Saotome guy? He said he'd seen her trying to get them off, you know, maybe they're lovers. Explains why Ryouga hated him so much."

"That's terrible! The King of the Gold Mines was so nice! I guess she really is a harlot!"

"And a wench!"

"Shut up! Didn't you see Ryouga disappear when she hit him with a holy artifact? I bet he was a demon! That would explain his freakish strength."

To the credit of our two heros, they managed to ignore the speculation going on around them.

"Listen, you little pompous whippersnapper, I'm taking what's mine and that's final!" said the little old man, leaping to his feet. Ranma dropped into a casual stance, narrowing his eyes at his opponent.

"Happo Fire BURST!" the old man said, and threw a strange little ball of cloth at him.

Then the world burst into an orgy of light and cacophonous sound, before falling into darkness.

"What sort of deal are we talking here?" Ukyou asked Becafica, instantly suspicious. He shrugged and pushed his plate away.

"I'm willing to provide you with a safe place to stay, somewhere to hide where no one need know your real identity," he said, formally. She narrowed her eyes at him, her hands itching for her spatula.

"What, exactly, is in it for you?" she spat. He sighed, elaborately, before leaning in closely as though what he had to tell her was of great consequence.

"Your silence about my love for Valiant, for one thing," he whispered, his eyes urbane, flat in the cool blue light of early morning. "For another, the life of my cousin."

"Feh. What does your cousin have to do with me?" she scoffed.

"Nothing, yet. His father is a wealthy merchant, and he's ill. You save the boy's life, and they'll grant you a haven as long as you want it."

"What makes you think I'm capable of that? I'm a cook, not a healer," she protested. Becafica grinned maliciously.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want me to tell all these men who you are so they can bring back King Kuonji's lost bride? I'm sure he'd be most pleased to see you," he simpered. Ukyou's eyes widened.

"Okay, fine, you little shit! I'll try it out, hold your horses."

Ranma woke to the sound of singing, sweet and low. Someone was making the sores on his body go away, someone was pouring water on the fires under his skin. He opened his eyes, and saw a beautiful young girl with long, blue hair. She reminded him of Akane. Trusting his dreams to her, he fell back into sleep.

When he woke again, he was chained with cold iron to a rock wall, in a dingy, dark little cell. But there were fresh bandages on his wounds. He looked around, searching for any indication of where he might be. There was none.

There was, however, a pretty young woman in the corner of the cell. Seeing him wake, she crossed the floor to him, graceful and quick. Her clothing was strange—SHE was strange, but she was all he had, so he smiled gratefully at her.

"You bandaged my wounds," he noted. "Who are you?"

"I'm Cologne-chan," she giggled, toying with a peculiar necklace she was wearing. It was purple, in the shape of a serpent eating a hawk. "I'm one of the servants of the Witch of the Desert," she informed him.

"That ugly old woman was the Witch of the Desert?" he mused, not missing the anger that crossed her face when he mentioned the word "ugly."

"Yes, I suppose so. What's your name?" she asked.

"Ranma. Ranma Saotome," he answered her. She laid a hand gently on his chest, looked up into his eyes.

"Ranma. Such a pretty name. Such a manly name, it fits you. Can I ask you a favor, Ranma?" she cooed, fluttering her eyelashes at him. He felt the blood rush to his face and gulped.

"Ah. . . . sure."

"I get awfully lonely here. . . would you . . . when you are healed, from your wounds. . . . will you become my lover? Such a strong man will surely produce strong children, we can live in peace here, all one family."

"You STAY AWAY from me, old man!" Akane said, brandishing an iron pot at her abductor. He pouted, crossing his arms.

"I don't see why you won't let me watch you in the tub, Akane-chan. I wasn't going to TOUCH, I only wanted to LOOK," he protested. Akane narrowed her eyes at him, swishing the pot in the air menacingly. He turned big, watery puppy eyes to her. "We're married, you know, so it's my duty as a husband to see that you're comfortable! I want to make sure the bath isn't . . . hehe. . . too cold."

Akane thought it rather a pity the old man was such a pervert, he would be adorable if he'd just stop with the boob-grabbing.

"I don't recall saying 'I do,'" she said, loftily. "Besides, I'm expecting a rescue any minute, so you just hold your horses. My father is going to burst in through that door with a hundred knights, any second now!" she informed him, eyes blazing. His eyes turned suddenly sly, he cocked his head at her to regard her sideways.

"Your protector isn't going to come," he informed her. She snorted.

"My father won't just leave me here."

"I'm talking about that man who was trying to save you back at the castle. My friend the Witch of the Desert has taken a liking to him, and she intends to keep him," he grinned maliciously. Akane felt her skin shrink on her at the very idea.

"But. . . she's so. . . uagh," she finished, unable to choke out coherent words to describe it.

"She has her tricks. I'll bet right now she doesn't look a day over sixteen. She might even be. . . . hmmm hmmm," he chuckled, evilly. Akane shuddered. Wouldn't the old woman be shocked when she found out Ranma turned into a girl . . . wait.

That was her ticket out of here.

What does an old pervert like better than one luscious young woman? Two. If she could just talk him into it. . . .

By the time P-chan found his way out the neck hole of his suit of golden armor, the fight was over.

Ranma and Akane were gone.

Crying, he set out to look for them. . . and was never seen, as man or beast, in the Tendo Court again

Evil, yes, I know. Sorry.

That pretty much wraps up the predominant story arc, which is Yellow Dwarf. If you're interested, Langley wrote the version I used. The princess was really named Bellissima, it was her mother instead of her father, and at the end. . . . well, at the end, the King of the Gold Mines (there's no Ranma figure, but the witch does take the young King with her because she thinks he's cute) fights his way to the side of Bellissima, trying to rescue her. And then. . . it ends badly, it ends very sad. I like the ass-kicking princess let's-have-lesbian-orgies idea better. That might just be me.


	13. The Goose Girl

Disclaimer: Own these? Not I, say wise woman, say wise man, I own not.

Nabiki was born a Princess, and raised to believe that she deserved everything the world had to offer. She was also of a practical and conniving nature. So when the dragon Kestrel stole her away from her parents, she decided to turn it to her advantage.

Truth be told, if she hadn't been wandering around at night following the bogus treasure map her idiot father had given her, she would never have been kidnapped.

Regardless, after a few days with Kestrel it became quite obvious that he had more need of a maid than a snack, so she was to be kept alive in that capacity. Her pragmatic nature asserted itself, and she began wandering the village below Kestrel's mountain. Every time she saw something someone didn't want her to see, she would blackmail them into doing her chores for her—and it quickly became more than that. Kestrel loved his cruel little maid, and they began to work together terrorizing the countryside. He would back up her blackmail with threats of fire. Soon, they had almost more gold than their cavern could contain, and began looking for a new lair.

She was seven.

Her father came to rescue her when she was twelve, but she would have none of it. By the time she was seventeen, she was the richest human being on the continent. Technically it was all Kestrel's gold, but she had more use for it than him and thought of it as hers.

That much money is a powerful motivator. Treasure hunters began to come. At first, only the incompetents, but then. . . then the real professionals arrived, and it was only a matter of time before someone killed her dragon. So, one autumn evening, Kestrel met his end, and Nabiki met the beginning of a long, tortured journey.

She dared not tell the men who she really was, for fear of being held for ransom, with little bits of her being shipped off to her father. So she kept silent, and they assumed she was just another village chit, risen to prominence with theft and blackmail. When men like that have a simple village chit in their grasp, a girl with no family, no power, no weapons, they do certain horrible things to her.

And so they did.

She was left, ruined and without a hope of reception at her father's court, to find a place to live in winter. She wandered, starving, until she fell at the kitchen door of a small, humble castle. They took her in, gave her work, gave her food and shelter and cuffs on the ear when she was insolent.

Nabiki, of course, had never hated anyone so much in her entire life as she hated the Princess that lived in that castle. The girl was too pretty, too kind, too GOOD in all senses of the word—and too lucky. She was also arranged to be married. The day came when her mother was to ship her off to meet her husband, and Nabiki arranged to be her escort.

The foolish queen was sending her only child across the country with just one maid. Of course, as Nabiki discovered, that was not all she girl carried with her. Her mother gave her a handkerchief, with three drops of her own blood soaked into it. The Princess was told to always keep it with her, as it gave her a sort of magical protection. Then they were off—Nabiki on an old nag, and the Princess on a talking horse called Falada.

After they had traveled a while, the Princess asked Nabiki to get down and fetch her a drink from the stream. Nabiki, cross and thirsty herself in the midday sun, refused. A bit puzzled, the Princess dismounted herself and bent down to drink out of the stream.

"Oh, dear," the pretty girl muttered. Nabiki rolled her eyes. But she distinctly heard another voice say, "If your mother only knew, her heart would surely break in two." And as it was not her, and it was not Falada, it could be nothing but the three drops of blood on the handkerchief.

A little further down the road, the same thing happened. But this time, when the Princess bent over to drink, the handkerchief slipped out of her bodice and was carried down the stream. Nabiki noted this, and decided to use it to her advantage. She dismounted, strode over to the Princess, and grabbed a good fistful of that long, golden hair.

"You listen now, and you listen good," she hissed, dragging the Princess to her knees. "I am going to marry your Prince, and you are going to be the maid. Do you understand?"

The poor girl could only whimper.

"Do you understand?" she asked again, taking a knife out of the top of her boot. "If you're too blonde for this kind of thing, I'll just cut your throat and be done with it. Swear to me that you will never breathe a word to another soul about your true name! About who you really are!" Nabiki shook the Princess, and she cried out. "About who I really am! SWEAR!"

"I swear!" the girl choked out, tears streaming down her face.

"Swear on your soul!"

"I swear. . . on my soul."

"Good," Nabiki muttered, releasing her. "Then get out of those fine clothes, because I mean to wear them."

When they arrived at the palace, Nabiki had Falada killed and the Princess sent out to watch geese with a lusty young man named Curdken. She thought her troubles were over. If the Prince was not the brightest crayon in the box, that was just as well. He was rich, and he was handsome, and his stupidity just made her life all the easier.

But the Princess was not quite as stupid as she looked. She bought Falada's head from the butcher, and hung it over the entrance to the castle. Every day, as she was herding the geese, she would talk with the horse-head. And every afternoon, as she was watching the geese, she would avoid Curdken's advances with all the grace of an old pro. It didn't take the King long to realize that he had an unusual goose girl, and he called the Princess into his presence.

He asked her to tell him her story.

She refused.

So he made her climb into an oven.

And when she was very frightened, and hot, and she didn't think anyone could hear her. . . she began, sobbingly, to tell her story. Of course, as soon as the King realized Nabiki was not the true Princess, he felt relieved. Nabiki scared him witless, and he couldn't imagine having her for a daughter-in-law.

So, that night at supper, he asked Nabiki what should be done to a traitor who has deceived everyone. And Nabiki, suspecting no foul play, said that such a person should be stripped naked, put into a barrel that has had nails hammered through he wood until the inside is covered in spikes, and dragged in that barrel behind two horses until dead.

She had a vindictive streak. It did not hold her in good stead.

(Meanwhile, the Wandering Pig)

A long time ago, in the time of Ryouga's father, a wind wizard's son came to the Hibiki kingdom with his bride. He understood the speech of birds, and knew all kinds of medicines. His wife, a pretty woman named Kasumi, was so kind and industrious that everyone loved her. They were very happy, and their happiness made the castle a brighter place.

It was the wind wizard's son, a man called Tofu, who found Ryouga. Without meaning to, the young King had wandered straight home. Tofu found him walking circles around an azalea bush in the castle garden. When he was brought back to himself through the agency of hot water, and given some clothes, he told his story to the wind wizard's son and her wife.

"But what happened to the Princess? Is she all right? Ryouga-kun, how could you let this happen?" Kasumi asked, tears welling in her eyes. Tofu put a hand on her shoulder, before turning stern eyes back to Ryouga.

"I trust you intend to find her?" he asked. Ryouga nodded, staring at Kasumi—who was rapidly disentigrating into a sobbing mess.

"Is she. . . is she going to be all right?" he asked, a bit nervously. He'd never seen Kasumi cry before, and he hated being the one that brought it on. Tofu turned a bit pink around the edges, and he coughed as if clearing his throat.

"Yes, of course. She. . . she was just looking forward to your nuptials," Tofu said. He quickly changed the subject. "Well, with your sense of direction, you'll need a whole hunting party to help you track them down."

Of course, Kasumi would not be all right. She was looking forward to seeing her sister again—but if she wanted to stay with her husband, a lowly man of medicine, she could never let anyone know just whose sister she was.

"I'll begin forming the hunting party right away," Ryouga promised, his face grim. "She chose me, and there's no way in hell I'm going to give her up."

(Back to Nabiki's Horrifying Demise)

"Please, please stop," she sobbed, as her beautiful clothes were torn from her, piece by piece. At last, she stood in only her shift, surrounded by men of the village. On of them, leering without teeth, made a lunge for her chest. She screamed and slapped at him, but it was no use.

The barrel was ready, the horses were impatient to begin. And no one was there to care what happened to the condemned before her sentence was carried out.

Meaty hands gripped her waist, pulled her shift apart until she was standing there in shreds. . .but she wasn't standing long. Someone pulled her back, pulled her under, she was covered in grabbing hands and surrounded by the stench of unwashed, uncaring humanity. A man with a scar running from his chin to his eyebrow kissed her, and her mouth was full of the taste of kippered herring. Someone had her arse in a firm grip, and she screamed against the teeth of the scarred man, but it was no good.

"I call first," someone said, and there was a sound of flesh smacking flesh as someone punched him. They were fighting over her, fighting over who went when and how long they'd keep her alive to do it. . . Nabiki had never felt, in her entire life, more disgusted.

But the scarred man was pushed off her, a boot colliding solidly with his head so that he crumpled beside her. Nabiki looked up at the man who had won the scuffle, but it was not one of the townsmen who were assigned to making sure she died a traitor's death. It was someone else, a man with long brown hair and a giant. . . a giant spatula tied to his back.

"Get up, we have to get moving," the stranger said, and Nabiki obeyed. She found herself swung up behind him on a brown horse with a fine leather saddle—not, really, that she was inclined to like leather rubbing against her bare butt and thighs, but the miser in her was pleased with it. They rode into the forest, deep into the dappled shadows of the woods. When they had ridden long enough that Nabiki was sure her thighs were bleeding from the friction, the stranger stopped.

"Imagine, raping a woman right under the castle walls! Where in the hell were the guards?" the stranger cursed, helping Nabiki down. She blushed, trying to cover her nakedness, but it was no use. There was too much of her for her hands to cover everything—but the stranger seemed to neither notice or care, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"You can wear this, I guess, until we get somewhere that sells clothes. It won't help with the saddle, but at least you won't be completely exposed," the stranger offered. Nabiki nodded, frowning at what the stranger's unbuttoned shirt revealed.

Chest bindings. The stranger had bound his. . . no, her chest in order to look like a man!

Feeling at once both relieved and puzzled, Nabiki accepted the shirt the stranger was holding out to her.

"Thank you for saving me. I hate to be rude, but what is your name?"

"Ukyou, sugar. Just plain old Ukyou."


End file.
